Category: Theory

  • Steering for Immersion in Five Nordic Larps – A New Understanding of Eläytyminen

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    Steering for Immersion in Five Nordic Larps – A New Understanding of Eläytyminen

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    The concept of character immersion has been a cornerstone of Nordic larp discussion for fifteen years. I was surprised by how much the concept of steering introduced last year brought to my understanding of character immersion (“eläytyminen”). In this essay I look at five specific experiences with steering towards immersion, some successful, some not.

    More specifically, I have usually tried to steer towards immersing in cathartic emotional experiences experiences through my character. Most often this has come through experiencing Saturnine melancholy.

    The character immersion definition I work with here is this one:

    Immersion is the player assuming the identity of the character by pretending to believe their identity only consists of the diegetic roles.

    Pohjola, 2004

    In The Art of Steering (2015, Montola, Saitta, Stenros), which is in this volume, steering is defined like like this:

    Steering is the process in which a player influences the behavior of her character for non-diegetic reasons.

    That is, out-of-character motivations guide the character in some direction. In my case, the out-of-character motivation is that of delving deeper in the character, and guiding the character towards experiencing strong emotions.

    Saturnine Melancholy

    When watching movies, I’m most typically moved to tears when the scene deals with generations passing, time moving on, sons becoming fathers, mothers becoming grandmothers, hints of new babies eventually becoming unrecognized names on graves.

    I’ve heard this feeling is called “Saturnine melancholy”, as in melancholy related to time; from the Roman time god Saturn who eats his own son.

    Scenes like the one in The Thirteenth Warrior, where the vikings going to battle recite: Lo there do I see the line of my people, back to the beginning. Lo, they do call me, they bid me take my place among them.

    Or the wedding scene in Fiddler on the Roof, where they sing Sunrise, Sunset: Is this the little girl I carried? / Is this the little boy at play? / I don’t remember growing older. / When did they?

    Why I am particularly prone to Saturnine melancholy is perhaps a topic for another essay. But I have experienced it enough times to know to steer for it.

    Käpälämäki X – Kesäyö

    The Käpälämäki series is a Harry Potter larp series set at the uncanonical Finnish magic school Käpälämäki. I attended the tenth episode.

    My character was Severi Saraste, a bureaucrat from a well known family of dark magic users. He wanted nothing to do with his family, but knew his job and connections depended on them.

    Severi’s job in the larp was to be part of a Ministry envoy overseeing the Käpälämäki school and to make sure the Pureblood kids in the school had everything they needed.

    During the course of the larp, Severi and some students were imprisoned by Aurors (magic police) because of their ties to a secret cabal of pureblood extremists.

    After a few hours the students were released. Neither Saraste nor the conspirator students had said anything. The immersion was mostly to the situation of being in a damp cellar, being interrogated, trying not to be found out. Exciting, but not exactly cathartic.

    Saraste was moved to the attic and left alone to ponder upon his actions.

    After a while of sitting alone in the attic, I noticed my thoughts started to drift away from the larp, into matters of real-life work, family, art, food, and so on. I was running out of inner monologue for my character! I had to steer my larp ship out of these low shoals into the high seas of immersion! But I had no chart.

    I pulled out my Finnish-style lengthy character description detailing Severi’s childhood, contacts, plots, background, dilemmas, tasks, everything. I figured I would have hours to sit alone, so I read it with care.

    Severi only has two choices, neither of which are appealing: he can leave the pureblood extremists and gain freedom but lose everything else, or continue as before, and remain a prisoner of his community.

    But wait… Was he actually offered a third choice now? Come clean to the Aurors, and rat out his whole family? They would go to prison and have no power over Severi Saraste or his career anymore. But did Severi have it in him?

    This was just the sort of emotional hook I was hoping to find by re-reading the character description. It provided the lengthy alone time with the perfect inner monologue. Severi stared out the window, thinking about what to do. On the one hand, this, on the other hand, that…

    And then the in-game radio started playing a sad wizarding jazz song downstairs. Severi could just hear the melodramatic tone, and then the tears came. After I had enough of crying, Severi demanded to see the Aurors again.

    “I wish to change my statement.”
    “In what way?”
    “I want to confess.”

    After that the game took a whole new direction for myself and for many other players, including the Aurors and the other conspirators.

    I had not planned for this in any way, and neither had the character writer Lissu Ervasti. But by chance, steering, and character immersion, I received the full Aristotelian experience. First, an insoluble dilemma (act one), getting into trouble because of it (act two), then a recognition of some inner truth (anagnorisis), and a complete turn of direction (peripeteia), resulting in an outcome that at first would ha ve seemed impossible (act three). (See also Pohjola, 2003)

    The immersive experience would have been just as strong without the turning point, but in this case it happened to serve as fuel for more game content.

    Monitor Celestra

    Monitor Celestra was a big Swedish larp set in the world of the reimagined TV series Battlestar Galactica. The larp was set in the time of the pilot episode, where almost all mankind has just been destroyed by the Cylon machines. Only a handful of spaceships survived and formed a fleet, which included both the military museum ship Galactica, political ship Colonial One, and the research vessel Celestra.

    I played the surgeon on board the Celestra, Dr. P. Albert. (The larp was played three times, and all characters were non-gendered. I named myself Pavel.)

    The written character mostly consisted of group briefs, like Cultural Affiliation: Tauron, Group: Celestra Crew, Subgroup: Medical Staff, and Other Affiliations: Cylon Sympathizers.

    Before the group briefs I had a small chapter summarizing my character as a Cylon loving doctor. Then at the bottom of the description this Cylon loving doctor idea was extrapolated and imbued with playing directions, and out-of-character duties (such as determining the severity of wounds and illnesses).

    The Cylon loving doctor might seem like a fun character to play, but in the actual larp, the understandable lack of cylons and limited space for medical practice made this almost irrelevant. So I was left with very little of the pre-made material being useful.

    We were told to flesh out the characters ourselves, as is quite often the case in Swedish and Danish larps. In Finnish larps the larp design is communicated mostly through the characters, so the “make your own character” style seems strange even for me after a decade and a half of larping abroad.

    In this case we were given a forum, and told to develop inter-character relations there. Fine.

    I fleshed out my character by giving him a wife and family on one of the planets that was destroyed. I made Dr. Pavel Albert a long-haired hippie with a California drawl in his speech to very clearly mark him a civilian and thus contrast him further with the military personnel I knew would be manning the Celestra at some point.

    I decided P. Albert had worked on the Celestra to pay his med school loans, but was now almost done with it, and would get to return to Tauron next week. And I developed some low-key relationships with other players, but unfortunately nothing that would become truly essential in the larp. And, assuming this was a sandbox type larp, I decided the character would try to take over the ship from the eventual military occupation, if push came to shove.

    Like the Cylon loving doctor description, all of these, too, became void in the course of the larp. I ended up having to do a lot of impromptu steering in order to get something out of the larp.

    The aftermath of humanity being destroyed would have been perfect material for character immersion, and even Saturnine melancholy: I am the last member of my family. My wife has just died. My parents had died. 99.99+ % of humanity has died. But during the course of the game (as of the TV pilot), we would be given new hope of a secret thirteenth colony of mankind: Earth.

    Unfortunately most of this emotional potential was made void by the heavy emphasis on action plots, and the breaks in the game.

    The plot model Brute Force Larp Design is discussed in the article The Blockbuster Formula (2015, Fatland & Montola).

    The game was divided into four acts, with a break between each. Sometimes the break was short, at other times we would leave the location for the hostel. There was always a time leap for the characters. Fine. But the dramatic structure that works for television, does not always work for larps: the big information with the potential emotional impact (“Earth exists!”) was always delivered at the very end of the act. Meaning that we never got to play characters reacting to them.

    Similar problems prevented focus on the “everyone you knew is dead” aspect of the setting.

    There were plots elements in the larp, too. Is the ship controlled by the original civilian crew or the military visitors? What side is the Presidential representative on? Does Celestra contact the Cylon ship or the refugee ship? Do we have Cylons onboard?

    I do not know how well these “main plots” worked in other runs of the larp, but in the second one that I attended, the whole system was unfortunately broken (see also The Blockbuster Formula). A bunch of players who had contributed to the larp via crowdfunding and made the whole thing possible were promised a “special plot,” which turned out to be that they were all members of a secret spy organization.

    Their characters were then divided into various groups in high positions, meaning they essentially controlled most of the main plots. During the course of the larp I realized it was not built like the sandbox I expected, and the main plots seemed strangely impenetrable.

    What was left was more like an amusement park, and I started steering in that direction to get some enjoyment out of it.

    It worked like this: Dr. Pavel Albert went to a location, event or person (such as the AI lab, the bridge, the mutiny, the murder, the Presidential Aide, or the Cylon prisoner), and interacted with everyone as much as possible.

    When the situation had exhausted its dramatic potential, he went to a new location. This was most apparent when interacting with GM-played supporting characters, such as the Cylon prisoner. Eventually dialogue with the prisoner started to repeat itself, like talking to non-player characters in a video game.

    These emergency steering maneuvers eventually lead to meaningful, emotional content, too, as Dr. Albert, the Presidential Aide (played in a wonderfully enabling manner by Christopher Sandberg), and a few others started hatching a plan to steal a shuttle and flee from Celestra together.

    Halat Hisar

    Halat hisar was set in an alternate reality where the Palestinian situation had happened in Finland. The fictional Ugric people had been given parts of Finland, and had conquered even more. Many Finns lived under occupation in “South Coast” (corresponding to West Bank) or the Åland Islands (corresponding to Gaza Strip). It was played in Parkano in November 15–17, 2013, and organized by a Palestinian-Finnish team.

    The larp was set at the Finnish University of Helsinki, in divided Helsinki. My character Tuomas Kallo, described as “The Conflicted Realist,” was running for the head of the student council as one of the Social Democratic Liberation Party (“Fatah”) candidates. Other parties were the Party of Christ (“Hamas”), Pan-Nordic Liberation Front, and the Socialist Resistance Front.

    My dramatic function was explained in the character description: “You represent the establishment, and through you, maybe the radical roots of today’s ruling party can be seen.” In this reading I was essentially a younger, Finnish version of Mahmoud Abbas, the President of the Palestinian Authority.

    Early on in the larp soldiers from the Ugric Defense Forces occupied the university and placed it under curfew. Students and faculty were arrested, interrogated and tortured. During the larp rumors started spreading that my character was somehow in league with the UDF, perhaps giving them information. It was impossible to refute such accusations, but they essentially cost Tuomas Kallo the election and some friendships.

    The big turning point, and cause of emotional turmoil for Tuomas Kallo was a student demonstration against the UDF soldiers. I took the megaphone and lead the group in singing nationalist songs. Some people yelled slogans, others threw stones.

    The other megaphone was held by a fellow candidate, the Socialist Marie Isola (played by Jamie MacDonald). She was the de facto leader of the demonstration, and got into a shouting match with one of the soldiers.

    Things got aggressive, and the UDF soldier shot Marie.

    Somebody called the ambulance, which drove towards the demonstration, but was held by the soldiers at the road block, and then forbidden to get close to the bleeding student. When the medical professionals eventually got to Marie, she was already dead. After the larp we found out this was all pre-written by the organizers.

    Marie’s death was such a blow that it effectively ended the demonstration. We went back to the university building, everyone full of emotions: sadness, shock, bitterness, anger, fear…

    I was ready to let the emotions wash over me. It was time to steer towards Saturnine melancholy!

    For that, I found the perfect Turku-style location for solitary immersion: a lookout tower with a very small room on the top, and in every direction windows to the blackness that is Finnish November. There was even one chair there. Just one, as if it was designed for being alone. Perhaps it was.

    I stared out the window into the dramatic darkness, seeing soldiers marching on the campus. How horrible…

    Had I chosen the right path? Would we avenge Marie? Would we hold a vigil for her? Should I be more radical? What would my father have done, had he not been killed by UDF soldiers? Perfect Saturnine melancholic material for emotional immersion.

    But then I, the player, remembered something! This larp used the Black Box technique, and I had decided to try that. I imagined the emotional potential triggered by Marie’s death would be prime material for Black Boxing, so I took the wheel, made a quick U turn, and walked the stairs down to the Black Box room.

    Unfortunately the Black Box was taken. Many players had scenes to play with Marie: flashback, dreams, “what could have beens”, and so on. Marie’s player would soon play something else, so all this had to be done now. Mohamad Rabah, the Game Master in charge of the Black Box, asked me to wait.

    This called for complex steering: I had to hold on to the emotional potential but not tap into it. To do this, I walked around the building trying to avoid any contact with others who might inflict me with dialogue or plots that would dilute the emotional potential.

    Eventually I made it to the Black Box and played a dream sequence where Mohamad played Tuomas Kallo’s father. After plenty of “What would you do, dad?” and “My son, you already know what you have to do” we concluded the scene. I found it difficult to fully utilize the emotional potential I had come in with, perhaps because I lacked mechanisms for steering Mohamad, or because Mohamad had some other aim with the Black Box scene.

    Some time after the Black Box scene we held a small memorial event for Marie. We raised the Finnish flag, sung some sad songs about how we join our ancestors in Heaven and one day, we, too, will fade from memory. That was what finally made Tuomas Kallo (and me) cry.

    KoiKoi

    KoiKoi was a larp about stone-age hunter-gatherers played in Norway on July 1 – 5, 2014. The larp was played in numerous Scandinavian languages, and us Finns played strangers from a neighboring tribe who had become humans, that is, members of this tribe. My character Duskregn was a loincloth-wearing warrior married into the Bear Family.

    The larp was only a little about any single character’s individual dilemmas and dramas, and quite a lot about the society going about its business. Children becoming men, women and nuk, young men and women traded to other families to bear new children, and the old dying and being remembered. It should have been a perfect opportunity for some Saturnine melancholy, but somehow I never got there.

    All the instances of transformation were ritualized, which made perfect sense for the larp and could easily have added to the atmosphere. So we had a ManRit for children becoming men, a KvinnRit for children becoming women, a NukRit for children becoming nuk, a DödsRit for old people dying, a MinnsRit for remembering those who had died after the previous KoiKoi meeting, and several family rites for leaving one family and joining another. Some families even had washing rites and such.

    Between all those rituals and the getting ready for them, the content of my larp was mostly about hanging with my family, sleeping with people from other families, and dancing and telling stories in the big tent-like house.

    In a modern-day larp I would have brought a book for my character to read during downtime. In this case, the storytelling took that part.

    I listened to stories, performed in stories, and told stories of my own. As a professional writer coming up with stories is something I enjoy doing, and I am quite experienced at it. Unfortunately I ended up steering too much into coming up with stories for others to hear, instead of steering for getting everything out of whatever situation I was in.

    Most of the time I didn’t realize this was a problem, until after the larp. But after the MinnsRit where we remembered the dead, and everybody told stories about their loved ones, I was disappointed to not have really felt it.

    All the elements were there: generations passing, everyone having lost their loved ones, us becoming aware of our mortality and of the fact that others will eventually take our place and tell stories of us. We even had a few ancestors (nuks with masks) watching us. It should have been a cry-fest for me, but it was not.

    During the MinnsRit I spent too much brain-power on trying to come up with a story to tell. I was a recent addition to the AnKoi, but maybe I’d killed one of them earlier when I was still a Stranger. That might be a powerful, emotional twist. But who, and how? And why did they only die now? Or are there actually too many stories, and it’s getting kind of boring, and it takes too long to get through the mandatory memories without me adding new ones?

    What I should have done is steer for experiencing this full on, seeing us in the millennial line of people coming there to hear memories, share memories, and become memories. It is possible that due to my character’s outsider and barely developed past, I lacked points in which to attach such emotions.

    At times during the larp I felt not as my character but only as myself as a hunter-gatherer. Then I tried to figure out a more complex personality or back-story for my character. Maybe I was a spy from the strange tribe who was examining this tribe for weaknesses to exploit.

    One of the designers of KoiKoi, Eirik Fatland, has spoken about how Aragorn in the Prancing Pony would be a horrible character, since he would have no connection to any of the other characters, or the plots amongst the other visitors. But he would have an inner monologue Fatland parodizes as

    I am Aragorn, I am so cool. I am Aragorn, I am so cool…

    Fatland, 2014

    An inner monologue of that kind would ha ve been preferable to having no inner monologue at all.

    For me KoiKoi was a very powerful experience and an excellent larp, but in this sense a failure in steering for emotional immersion.

    College of Wizardry

    College of Wizardry was a Danish-Polish larp played November 13 – 16, 2014, at Czocha Castle in Poland. The larp was set at a magic university in Harry Potter world, almost twenty years after the books.

    I played Bombastus Bane, Professor of Dark Arts. Defence Against the Dark Arts, I mean. Essentially the Snape of Czocha. The professor characters were more or less created by the players themselves, but the organizers were quick to react to our ideas about contacts and plots.

    Bane’s whole family (mother, father, wife) had been in the wizard prison Azkaban since the war portrayed in the books. Bane’s wife had been pregnant at the time of imprisonment, and had given birth to their son Vladimir in prison. Vladimir had grown up in Azkaban surrounded by Dementors and criminals.

    Friday at lunch Bane received a letter informing him that his wife had passed away at Azkaban. I realized this is prime material for heavy emotions washing over me, and immediately steered towards this. I left the dining room for the Dark Forest in order to wallow in these emotions alone. Very Turku School. While I was in the Dark Forest, I realized the playing style of this larp would actually benefit from me making this as public as possible, and decided to make a steering turnabout.

    I returned to the dining hall to attack the Auror Bane assumed to be responsible for killing his wife. The private emotion became a public spectacle. Essentially this meant that I suppressed the emotional potential in the death of Bane’s wife, and created a dramatic scene instead. A scene, which would later on bring more emotional potential to be explored.

    When the immediate conflict was resolved the Auror took Bane to a private location, and explained what had happened.

    “Professor Bane, your wife didn’t die naturally. She was killed.”
    “By whom?”
    “By your son Vladimir.”

    Horrible news for Bane, but great material for emotional immersion! He was very distraught, but didn’t cry his heart out, yet.

    What finally broke Bane’s heart (and mine) was the Sorting Ceremony on the evening of that day. Looking at all the new juniors walking to their houses, and being cheered, Bane suddenly realised Vladimir was nineteen, and this year he would have been a junior.

    My thoughts briefly touched on this idea while observing the Sorting. It immediately triggered a strong, sad emotion. The kind of emotion one normally steers away from in real life. But a larp is a safe space for experiencing them, so I steered right into it. One never knows what one finds when exploring these subconscious emotional triggers, but in this case, my larp ship crashed into an island of gold!

    I started thinking that if Vladimir hadn’t grown up in Azkaban he would have been sorted into House Faust, and Bane would have been so proud. Or sorted into some other house, and Bane would have had petty arguments with his son.

    And Vladimir would be so excited about all those student crushes and initiation rituals and all the ordinary life of the nineteen-year-old wizard. Which would never happen.

    And maybe his mother Miranda would have been there on the balcony with Bane watching him. Which would never happen.

    I cried in and off for an hour about this, first looking down at the ceremony, then afterwards when a student witch took Bane aside and he poured his heart out to her.

    Even though the larp College of Wizardry itself was far from tragic or sad, it provided the backdrop for a great experience of cathartic Saturnine melancholy.

    Conclusion

    Steering is a very useful way for a player to analyze their behavior after the larp. By understanding the idea behind steering, the player can also realize when they are doing it during the larp, and it can make it steering easier, and more fruitful.

    Steering does not need to happen in speech or actions, it can also happen inside the player, guiding for more interesting thoughts.

    I have given five examples of trying to steer towards emotional experiences within character immersion. Some of them were successful, some not: and in the case of Monitor Celestra, I had to abandon that goal mid-game, and steer for something else.

    Only the two last larps mentioned (KoiKoi and College of Wizardry) happened after the introduction of the concept of steering. The concept allowed me to better understand even the larps I had played before it: but in the case of College of Wizardry, I remember actively thinking about steering as I was doing it.

    Bibliography

    Eirik Fatland anmd Markus Montola (2015): The Blockbuster Formula, in The Knudepunkt 2015 Companion Book.

    Markus Montola, Eleanor Saitta and Jaakko Stenros (2015): The Art of Steering, in The Knudepunkt 2015 Companion Book.

    Mike Pohjola(2003): Give me Jesus or give me Death! Published in panclou #7, 2003.

    Mike Pohjola (2004): Autonomous Identities – Immersion as a Tool For Exploring, Empowering and Emancipating Identities, in Beyond Role and Play, 2004, ed. Jaakko Stenros and Markus Montola.

    Ludography

    Helinä Nurmonen, et al (2012): Käpälämäki. Finland.

    Alternaliv AB, with Bardo AB and Berättelsefrämjandet, with a team of 85 people (2013): The Monitor Celestra. Gothenburg, Sweden. http://www.celestra-larp.com

    Fatima AbdulKarim, Kaisa Kangas, Riad Mustafa, Juhana Pettersson, Maria Pettersson and Mohamad Rabah (2013): Halat hisar. Palestine, Finland.

    Eirik Fatland, Tor Kjetil Edland, Margrete Raaum, et al (2014): KoiKoi. Norway.

    Charles Bo Nielsen, Dracan Dembinski, Claus Raasted, et al. (2014): College of Wizardry. Poland.

    Videography

    Eirik Fatland (2014): What is a Playable Character? Video, 07:30-09:40.



  • Painting Larp – Using Art Terms for Clarity

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    Painting Larp – Using Art Terms for Clarity

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    When I design scenarios, I try to use the terminology from the Nordic larp discourse. But many of thes styles “available” confuse me and my players instead of clarifying what the larps are actually about.

    One of the problems is that many styles are defined by what they are not, instead of what they are. Because of this, I would like to introduce a new way of thinking about larp terminology. The hope is to make my design choices clearer and open my mind to new ways of designing larp.

    I chose terminology from visual art, since that’s (also) about taking something intangible and turning it into something concrete.

    First we need to unmuddle the picture as we know it today. This means that I will try to use only only the necessary terminology that we know from roleplaying today.

    In art we talk about form, media, style and genre to define the work of art. These are the definitions I will go through and try to convert into terminologies that can be used for larp (and roleplaying in general).

    Form and Media

    An artform is defined by its shape or artistic expression, which often is defined by its media.

    Examples of different kinds of shapes in visual art: painting, sculptures, crafts, photography, film and architecture.

    Roleplaying doesn’t have shapes, but is defined by its artistic expressions of interaction. At one end of the spectrum, we find tabletop RPGs, and at the other we find larp. In the middle we find a lot of more or less recognized bastard children; freeform, semi-larp, etc.

    Style

    The style of art depending on the artform. As mentioned before, I will refer to visual art, but to make it even more concrete, I’m referring to styles of paintings in this and the subsequent section.

    The style is a way to frame the art. For an artform as roleplaying the style makes the expression more understandable. To exemplify I’ll go through some painting styles.

    Naturalism and realism seem similar to many, but have their differences. Where realism tries to capture the reality as it is, naturalism beautifies reality. It’s legal to remove or add something from a naturalist picture. This would be prohibited in realism. Also, realism usually focuses on the harsher aspects of life.

    Realism in roleplaying consists of simulations of reality. An example on a scenario which tried to achieve this is the danish larp U-359 from 2004. The larp took place in an actual (decommisioned) submarine. Not only were historical reproduction uniforms included in the participants package, the organizers also clearly stated that the larp would be more simulation than drama.

    Naturalism in roleplaying focuses on the good experience instead of the authenticity.

    A naturalist larp might be a historical depiction of a rural medieval village (like the larp Brakowitz from 1998 did); but one where everyone cared a bit more and where everything was a bit more rosy (unlike in Brakowitz, where things were horrible).

    Impressionism in roleplaying is where the simulation is comprised to make the important part of the game stand clear.

    An example is the danish larp Uden guds nåde from 2009. The important elements were lighted with stage lighting and the rest of the game area was darkened when not in focus.

    In cubism the artist describes an object or scene from multiple perspective at once.

    Cubism roleplaying uses different perspectives simultaneously that are later combined so that each player gets an experience of several viewpoints.

    An example is be the Danish freeform game Circus Without Boundaries from 2013. Here, the main mechanic is that each scene has one or more main characer(s) and several supporting players. The main character(s) can only talk, and must be moved around by the supporting players as lifesize dolls.

    The physical position shows the thoughts of the main characters where the dialog is what the characters actually are doing. A scene could be that the main characters are doing the dishes, and the supporting players change their positions so that one of the main characters tries to strangle the other one.

    Expressionism is about recognizable feelings, and not reality.

    The larp White Death from 2012 was designed for Black Box play. In the game the players are pioneers climbing a mountain, but the climb is too harsh, and they die one after each another until nobody is left. The players can only make special mechanic movements that make it hard to move. They can only speak incomprehensible sounds, but when a character dies, the player shifts to playing the soul of the pioneer, and can now move freely and help the pioneers left to die. Since there is no dialogue, the experience and context is constructed in the heads of the players; in a very personal way.

    There are many styles of art out there, and it’s not like I have definite answers. Some art styles can be compared with roleplaying and can be useful to us – others can’t.

    Hopefully some of these art styles will inspire us to make new kinds of larps, just like Pablo Picasso and Georges Braque invented Cubism.

    Genre

    To round off, a few words on genre. In paintings the genre defines the theme of the picture. It can be landscapes, portraits etc.

    These are unaffiliated of the style or form. In roleplaying we normally use literary genres to describe the game. These are normally fine to use, but can give problems regarding sandbox-games. The genre is often confused with style because its rarely these are split in literature. In art we have seen both naturalist and cubist landscape in a painting, but what about a cubist fantasy larp in roleplaying?

    What can you imagine?

    Do it!


    This article was initially published in The Knudepunkt 2015 Companion Book which was edited by Charles Bo Nielsen & Claus Raasted, published by Rollespilsakademiet and released as part of documentation for the Knudepunkt 2015 conference.


    Cover photo: “Museum of Modern Art” by Ingfbruno is licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0.

  • Now That We’ve Walked the Walk – Some New Additions to the Larp Vocabulary

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    Now That We’ve Walked the Walk – Some New Additions to the Larp Vocabulary

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    Larp is traditionally participatory in nature. Fortunately, there’s been a great introspective and analytical tradition accompanying the continuing push against the ever moving boundaries of what’s possible and what’s been attempted. Yet it seems that our vocabulary has not grown at the same rate as the art form itself.

    This article will attempt to cover some of the recent strides towards enriching that vocabulary. It presents the findings of several projects each exploring the nature of larp by investigating how the play and narrative experience change when mediated through computer/larp hybrids. These projects have investigated the interactive digital narrative academic literature, and have come away with a range of terms and concepts directly applicable to larp.

    It is my hope that this article will both provide the community with an enriched vocabulary for conversing about our art form, and an expanded analytical toolbox for designing and researching larps.

    Before jumping into the murky waters of terminology, let’s first ensure that we’re on the same riverbank. There’s been many endeavours to define role-playing, and I’d like to add my voice to the cacophony. But it’s my hope that by refining and combining the current definition attempts, we can turn the cacophony into a choir instead.

    Can’t You See I’m Role-playing?

    Based on my experience with the different forms of role-playing, the definitions of Hitchens & Drachen((Hitchens,M.,& Drachen,A.(2008).The many faces of role-playing games.International journal of role-playing,1(1),3-21.)), Arjoranta((Arjoranta, J. (2011). Defining Role-Playing Games as Language-Games. International journal of role-playing, 1(2), 3-17.)) and Montola((Montola, M., 2008.The invisible rules of role- playing.The social framework of role-playing process. International journal of role-playing, 1(1), pp.22–36)), as well as the results from my thesis projects((Temte, B. F. (2014). I, Herosmaton? Unpublished Master Thesis, Department of Architecture, Design and Media Technology, Section of Medialogy, Aalborg University Copenhagen. Supervisors: Bruni, L.E. & Eladhari, M.)) ((Temte, B. F., & Schoenau-Fog, H. (2012). Coffee tables and cryo chambers: a comparison of user experience and diegetic time between traditional and virtual environment-based roleplaying game scenarios. In Interactive Storytelling (pp. 102-113). Springer Berlin Heidelberg.)) ((Temte, B. F. (2011). Project Restless Sleep – An Experimental Framework for Investigating the Change in User Experience of Roleplaying Games in Virtual Environments. Unpublished Bachelor Thesis, Department of Architecture, Design and Media Technology, Section of Medialogy, Aalborg University Copenhagen. Supervisor:
    Schoenau-Fog, H.)), I would argue that there are a number of different processes to what we are currently calling role-playing:

    Textoring (Lit: weaver): Exploring the potential story evolution possibilities, I.e. the story-space((The complete set of potential story evolutions for the story in its current state)), and consequently manufacturing a personal, curated story-subspace instance, focused on the nodes deemed favourable to an engaging story evolution.

    Auctoring (Lit: authoring, acting, originator): (Re)defining the character itself, including personality traits and background. This is both done as part of the initial character creation process, performed by either the player or an author, and at runtime by the player and possibly also the GM.

    Ductoring (Lit: guiding, leading, commanding): Determining the appropriate actions/utterances for the character in the given situation. Performed at runtime, with some ductoring taking place during character creation regarding background events.

    Rectoring (Lit: ruling, directing, mastering): Directing the story through the actions/utterances of the character. Only at runtime, arguably some planning during initial character creation.

    Cantoring (Lit: acting, playing, poet): Portraying/acting out the character physically, including body movements, tone of voice, facial gestures etc. Only at runtime. While one could argue that cantoring may be contemplated prior to runtime, in order to best get a sense of the character’s physical mannerisms, I would label such contemplations as auctoring. However, it is quite common for role- players to explore the mental exercise of imagining their character in various situations, and so a degree of overlap is theoretically possible.

    Quod-core

    With these processes as a foundation, it’s now possible to formulate a new definition of Role-Playing:

    A type of Pretence-Play where Participants interact, often through rules, with a diegetic world through the continuous ductoring and possibly cantoring, rectoring and auctoring, of distinct characters, thus collaboratively co-textoring an emergent, ephemeral narrative.

    The core of role-playing is thus, in the presented definition, not the playing of a role per se. Rather, it’s the ductoring of the character(s) you control, the continuous process of evaluating the appropriate and relevant actions for the character and situation, that is the heart of our artform. Whether you then describe or act out the chosen action(s) is of lesser importance, and covered by the definition as well. One would argue that ductoring could also happen e.g. when you read a book or watch a movie. I completely agree, and posit that these examples are also to a large extent role-playing, the only major difference being the degree of interactivity offered by the medium.

    Basing media interaction on reader- response theory, the definition also takes this into account through mentioning ‘participants interacting with’.

    However, ductoring doesn’t say anything about whether you actually act upon these evaluations. You may be ductoring with/by yourself in a cupboard for 12 hours, without ever moving or saying anything. When larping, a more important concept is thus to which degree you’re acting on behalf of your character or yourself. I define this as the degree of herosproxy.

    When exhibiting a low degree of herosproxy, you’re essentially playing and acting as yourself in the given situations, with little regard for your player character’s motivations and personality. Reversely, a high degree of herosproxy signifies both a large amount of ductoring, and that said ductoring is being reflected and acted upon. Therefore, herosproxy is the most relevant real-world measure of role-playing.

    What IDS Brought along…

    I’d now like to present some of the terminology that the interactive digital storytelling academic community has developed for better understanding and researching their, and to a large extent our, field.

    Aarseth((Aarseth, E. (2012, May). A narrative theory of games. In Proceedings of the international conference on the foundations of digital Games (pp. 129-133). ACM.)) divides narrative elements into Kernels and Satellites, kernels being story elements/events which define the story, and satellites being elements/events without which the story would still be recognisable. Clearly, this distinction does not take into account the ephemerality of role-playing stories, but it still gives us terms to distinguish between primary and secondary events/elements. Likewise, one could argue that a larpwright should focus on kernels, letting the satellites happen on their own.

    The Network - A partially connected, cyclic graph with uni- and bi-directional paths 1. The Network – A partially connected, cyclic graph with uni- and bi-directional paths
    The Complete Graph - Fully connected bi-directional paths 2. The Complete Graph – Fully connected bi-directional paths
    The Tree - Unidirectional (from top to bottom), every traversal is a well-formed plot. 3. The Tree – Unidirectional (from top to bottom), every traversal is a well-formed plot.
    4. The Vector with Side Branches - One main direction, with bi-directional subplots. 4. The Vector with Side Branches – One main direction, with bi-directional subplots.
    5. The Maze - Structure typical for adventure games. 5. The Maze – Structure typical for adventure games.
    6. Directed Network ("flow chart") 6. Directed Network (“flow chart”)
    7. The Hidden Story - Plotting navigation on to time. 7. The Hidden Story – Plotting navigation on to time.
    8. The Braided Plot - Events and destiny lines. 8. The Braided Plot – Events and destiny lines.
    9. Action Space or Epic Wandering - System defined plot with user choices for action. 9. Action Space or Epic Wandering – System defined plot with user choices for action.

    Figure 1: Ryan’s 9 interactive narrative structures((Ryan, M. L. (2001). Narrative as virtual reality. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press.)). Illustrations from ((Temte,B.F.,Aabom,H.T.,Bevensee,S.H.,Boisen,K.A.D.,& Olsen,M.P.(2013).Aporia:Codename Still LakeValley – Exploring the Merge of Game-play and Narrative through Multiplayer Cooperation and Storytelling.Unpublished project report,Department of Architecture, Design and Media Technology, Section of Medialogy, Aalborg University Copenhagen. Supervisor: Bruni, L.E.)).

    Ryan((Ryan, M. L. (2001). Narrative as virtual reality. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press.)) presents nine different interactive narrative structures, along with their individual characteristics, with a tenth added by myself((Temte, B. F. (2014). I, Herosmaton? Unpublished Master Thesis, Department of Architecture, Design and Media Technology, Section of Medialogy, Aalborg University Copenhagen. Supervisors: Bruni, L.E. & Eladhari, M.)), this being ‘Instigating Event with Conflict-laden Characters’. The nine original can be seen on figure 1.

    I have yet to come up with a suitable illustration for Instigating Event with Conflict-laden Characters. The ten structures can work as tools for designing and framing conversations about larp structures as well.

    Ryan((Ryan, M. L. (2008). Interactive narrative, plot types, and interpersonal relations. In Interactive Storytelling (pp. 6-13). Springer Berlin Heidelberg.)) also proposes two different types of immersion in interactive narratives, these being ludic and narrative immersion. She also distinguishes between spatial, temporal and emotional narrative immersion.

    Additionally, Ryan suggests three distinct types of plot in interactive stories, with each plot type primarily suitable for a specific narrative immersion:

    Epic: Focuses on the struggle of the individual to survive in a hostile world – Spatial Immersion

    Dramatic: The evolution of a network of human relations – Emotional Immersion

    Epistemic: The desire to solve a mystery – Temporal Immersion (components of which are curiosity, surprise and suspense).

    We’re also given a tool for categorising player actions/utterances, where Theune, Linnsen and Alofs((Theune, M., Linssen, J., & Alofs, T. (2013). Acting, Playing, or Talking about the Story: An Annotation Scheme for Communication during Interactive Digital Storytelling. In Interactive Storytelling (pp. 132-143). Springer International Publishing.)) construct a scheme:

    This works very well for categorising e.g. player utterances when analysing larp play (see((Temte, B. F. (2014). I, Herosmaton? Unpublished Master Thesis, Department of Architecture, Design and Media Technology, Section of Medialogy, Aalborg University Copenhagen. Supervisors: Bruni, L.E. & Eladhari, M.))).

    Reference
    Perspective Story Game Reality
    Character CS: In-character utterances and imitations CG: In-character  references to game elements CR:In-character references to events or objects outside play
    Player PLS: Action suggestions and proposals referring to the story PLG: Communication about game aspects PLR: Including real-life events or objects in the game frame
    Person PES: Observations about events that happened in the story PEG: Observations about the interface, opinions about the game PER: Communications about events or objects outside play

    Figure 2: Theune, Linnsen and Alofs PxR annotation scheme((Theune, M., Linssen, J., & Alofs, T. (2013). Acting, Playing, or Talking about the Story: An Annotation Scheme for Communication during Interactive Digital Storytelling. In Interactive Storytelling (pp. 132-143). Springer International Publishing.)). Illustration from((Temte, B. F. (2014). I, Herosmaton? Unpublished Master Thesis, Department of Architecture, Design and Media Technology, Section of Medialogy, Aalborg University Copenhagen. Supervisors: Bruni, L.E. & Eladhari, M.))

    Mine, My Own, My Propositions

    In ((Temte, B. F., & Schoenau-Fog, H. (2012). Coffee tables and cryo chambers: a comparison of user experience and diegetic time between traditional and virtual environment-based roleplaying game scenarios. In Interactive Storytelling (pp. 102-113). Springer Berlin Heidelberg.)), I define Diegetic Adherence to be the degree to which diegetic time equals real time, i.e. whether the larp is running on a 1:1 time, or e.g. features flashbacks/slow motion. This term can both be used for describing/discussing/designing larps, and for analytic purposes.

    Hulk, Meet Spock

    I also here propose two non-opposed play styles/attributes; Cerebral and Embodied. The distinction here is whether the player seeks out the intellectual challenge(s) or instead strives to be physically/emotionally affected by the larp/situation. Cerebral gamists thus enjoy the intellectual challenge of a mystery or tactical battle, whereas embodied gamists thrive on e.g. the adrenaline response of the battle itself. Embodied immersionists aim for becoming their character, whereas cerebral immersionists are more akin to simulationists, aiming instead for experiencing being in the diegetic world.

    Dramaticists with a cerebral focus, enjoy shaping the story and influencing/ experiencing its fl ow and aesthetics, whereas embodied dramaticists instead seek the emotional response from entering the story. I do not see these terms as necessarily being directly in opposition however. Larps/situations where you’re both intellectually and emotionally engrossed are easily imagined.

    Exploding the Player Character

    In ((Temte, B. F. (2014). I, Herosmaton? Unpublished Master Thesis, Department of Architecture, Design and Media Technology, Section of Medialogy, Aalborg University Copenhagen. Supervisors: Bruni, L.E. & Eladhari, M.)), I define the ALHFa-PAV categorisation (pronounced Alpha-Paw) as a way of dividing and discussing the components of a player character:

    Avatar: Physical manifestation of person in another reality. Navigational and ludic focus in games. In larps, the avatar is ourselves.

    Locus: The visual appearance of a particular avatar. How we look, with costume, makeup, expression and props.
    Herosmaton: The specific contents of the person schema of a player character, including personality traits, goals, background etc.

    Facies: The countenance/appearance of a particular herosmaton. How the herosmaton looks inside the imagined diegesis.
    Player Character: The combined avatar, locus, herosmaton and facies, along with its more ludic characteristics, e.g. strength score, hit points etc., and the actions available to it, defined below as Ago and Vis.

    Ago: The verbs available to the particular PC, such as run, jump, shoot etc.

    Vis: The ludic stats associated with the PC, such as hit points, strength score etc.
    It’s my hope that our community may adopt some or all of the terms, hereby easing the joint communication and understanding of the player character elements.

    Picking Nits

    There is little doubt that bleed as a larp term and concept is both relevant and real (for a given definition of real).

    But given the pre-existing uses and meanings associated with bleed as a term outside the role-playing community, and the fact that I’m a nerd when it comes to terms/classifications, I would propose to rename the concept Flusentio (in/ex) [Lit: Flow/bleed of feelings]. Influsentio would thus be emotions, characteristics and/ or opinions flowing/bleeding from player to character, with Exflusentio denoting flowing/ bleeding from character to player.

    Concerning Genres

    Usually, when discussing larps, we refer to the genre as based on those of Hollywood movies. The Danish larp theorist Jacob Nielsen proposes that we instead/additionally adopt the vocabulary of the art world as a way of discussing our works and the intentions of the authors.

    For instance, playing a social realism drama expressionistically will yield a very different play through than the exact same larp played abstractly, impressionistically or post-modern. Therefore, I strongly encourage you read Jacob Nielsen’s thought-provoking article on styles in larp in this book.

    I hope that the usefulness and relevance of these terms are clear, and encourage further debates about and expansions of our shared vocabulary. I also hope that the term-nado I’ve just unleashed has either blown you away, or at least ruffled your feathers enough that a productive debate will ensue, at whichever decibel level you prefer.


    This article was initially published in The Knudepunkt 2015 Companion Book which was edited by Charles Bo Nielsen & Claus Raasted, published by Rollespilsakademiet and released as part of documentation for the Knudepunkt 2015 conference.


    Cover photo: “Participants discussing at Knutepunkt 2015” by Johannes Axner is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0.

  • Learning by Playing – Larp As a Teaching Method

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    Learning by Playing – Larp As a Teaching Method

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    Tell me, and I will forget.
    Show me and I may remember.
    Involve me, and I will understand.

    Confucius

    The next generation of teachers will be expected to possess a broad spectrum of competencies and skills. They are faced with a seemingly impossible task: today, classroom instruction should teach not only content but also competence. It should be as interdisciplinary as possible and it should take the heterogeneity of students into account. In addition to hard skills, classroom instruction should also teach soft skills. It should encourage and include the use of the learning material in a variety of situations that students will face in the real world. At the same time it should also be problem-oriented, varied and interesting, and sustainable. And of course, it should motivate students to learn!

    While it seems as though new teachers are being asked to square the circle, the Danish boarding school Østerskov Efterskole and others like it have demonstrated that this challenge can be met and mastered((Cf. Hyltoft, Malik, 2008.)).

    How? With Edularp.

    But just what is Edularp?

    Edularp

    Edularp((The term Edularp stands for “educational live action role-playing game”.)) is live-action roleplaying used to impart pre-determined pedagogical or didactic content.

    Why is Edularp ffective? Why do children, high school students, college students, and seminar participants learn better, faster, more sustainably and more easily with Edularp?

    Edularp as Game

    The chief art is to make everything that children have to do, sport and play too.

    John Locke

    Firstly, Edularp is always a game. And games are usually fun((Henriksen (2008) argues for the contrary opinion, according to which learning games neither must nor should be fun.)). Those who have fun learn more easily((Cf. Corbeil, 1999, pp. 173.)), are more motivated((Cf. Hyltoft, M., 2010, pp. 48.)), and are more likely to tackle larger challenges without reticence((Suits (2005) has even made the overcoming of unnecessary obstacles the core of his definition of games:“Playing a game is the voluntary attempt to overcome unnecessary obstacles.”)). Additionally, players participating in an Edularp — like players of games in general — often forget that they are actually doing something sensible. For them, fun — often fun as part of a group — is in the foreground((Baer, U., 1982.)).

    Secondly, in games in general and in Edularps in particular, a kind of secondary reality((Authors from different fields have described this alternative reality in a number of different ways, but often mean the same thing or at least a similar thing: the “situation of the second degree” in Brougère, G., 1999, the “frame” in Goffman, E., 1977, pp. 52, the “surplus reality” in Moreno, 1965 or the “magic circle of gameplay” in Huizinga, 1938/1939.)) takes hold. It is a special reality that not only lifts the players out of their complex and often trivial or boring everyday existences for a brief time, but that also delivers them into a new world that is often exciting, epic and comprehensible in ways that the real word is not. While “normal” classroom instruction is often dry, Edularp is usually the highlight of the day. This provides enormous motivation to players((Cf. McGonigal, J., 2012, pp. 119ff.)). It is simply far more exciting to investigate a murder mystery than to listen to a lecture about chemistry, English or mathematics.

    Furthermore, when we play, we are only acting “as if” something were the case. We, and the other players, are only pretending. This results in a kind of sanction-free experimental zone, a safe framework in which we can try out new ways of thinking or beha ving, reasoning or feeling — without fear of negative consequences((Cf. van Ameln, F. and Kramer, Josef, 2007, pp. 397; Hyltoft, M., 2010, pp. 45ff; Vester, 1978, pp. 184.)). After all, it is “only” a game.

    This is especially true of role-playing games in which we act “as if” we were knights, elves or orcs. But even in games in which we do not slip into obvious game roles, as is the case in alternate reality games (ARGs), we nevertheless do adopt a role in the sense that we act “as if” something were “real” even though we know that it is not.

    It could be a bomb from which we recoil in panic and then attempt to defuse with all the seriousness of someone facing a real explosive device. Or it could be a person who we treat with respect because they present themselves as a police officer, even though we know that they are really just an NPC (a non-player character — the game equivalent of an extra in a film).

    Participants in games are often less likely to be discouraged by setbacks; indeed, after “failing” they often return to the challenge with even more motivation than before((McGonigal, J., 2012, pp. 64ff.)).

    Edularp: Learning by Doing

    For the things we have to learn before we can do them, we learn by doing them.

    Aristotle, The Nicomachean Ethics

    Furthermore, Edularp is what we refer to as an action-oriented method((Cf. Balzer, 2009, pp.13.)). That means that participants learn not through flat theories or lecturing from the blackboard but rather that they truly become active in the lesson or subject matter by trying it out themselves, through their own actions. Edularp is, in the truest sense of the word, learning by doing((The expression “learning by doing” comes to us not, as is often claimed, from John Dewey, but

    rather from the English translation of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, 1985, p. 27f.)).

    That means that the participants learn with all their senses. When they viscerally experience the content, when they physically exert themselves, when they smell the appropriate smells and see the appropriate visuals, their entire bodies act as sounding boards both for the experience itself and for their reflections on what they have experienced and learned((Cf. van Ameln, F., Kramer, J., 2007, pp. 393.)).

    With Edularp it is possible to present topics that are typically dry or theoretical in ways that make them accessible to sensible experience or allow them to be expressed in symbolic ways((Cf. van Ameln, F., Kramer, J., 2007, pp. 392.)). If, for example, one is on a spaceship and the navigation computer suddenly malfunctions, so that the only way to plot a new course is to solve a differential equation; or if one has to infiltrate and analyze a new cult in order to prevent them from carrying out a terrorist attack; or if one is maltreated by inhumane prison guards((The first example (spaceship) is taken from a game from Østerskov Efterskole, the second example (cult) is taken from a game designed by the authors, while the third example comes from “Prisoner for One Day”, cf. Aarebrot, E. et al., 2012, pp. 24–29.)); what might have been abstract content is instead placed in a concrete, practical context and takes on tangible relevance.

    Thus, participants in an Edularp learn not only with their heads but with their guts, with their emotions, senses, and intellects. It is by simultaneously addressing the cognitive and the emotional faculties that the learning content becomes truly relevant and emotionally meaningful to the learner. This means that they can learn more easily and, above all, with greater retention((Cf. van Ameln, F., Kramer, J., 2007, pp. 395.)).

    Edularp in Practice

    For several years Edularp has been used professionally around the world to successfully achieve diverse goals in a variety of contexts((Cf. e.g.: http://seekersunlimited.com/, http://rollespilsfabrikken.dk/, http://osterskov.dk/, http:// www.waldritter.de/ or Aarebrot, E., et al., 2012.)). But how do those individuals who teach with games in general and with larps in particular obtain their competency?

    Until now most “knights of education” have been pedagogues, teachers, trainers, social workers, caretakers, therapists and psychologists who typically stumbled upon the larp hobby in their private lives and who independently recognized the huge didactic and pedagogical potential of live- action role-playing((Cf. Balzer, 2009.)) — even in its hobby variant.

    They were often pioneers in their fields and had to expend enormous effort to be able to offer their students, patients or participants active learning — live, dynamic and in color.

    Nearly 35 years after the first known larp((As the history of larp is often contentious I would like to refer the reader to the English-language Wikipedia article on the topic, which is actively and internationally edited: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/larp)) we found the time ripe for making it easier for young, interested teaching students to utilize the method. To that end we developed a teaching seminar for the University of Siegen Department of Education.

    The goal was not just to inform teaching students about the theoretical advantages of live action role-playing in general and Edularp in particular — in the practical seminar we explicitly concerned ourselves with putting the students in a position to develop and run their own Edularps((With our draft seminar we were able to obtain a teaching commission from the University of Siegen. After submitting the written application and presenting the concept to the Department of Education a commission selected our proposed seminar for the didactic module in its 2013/2014 winter semester course offerings.))

    Gamification vs. Edularp

    In addition to presenting the subject in as practical a manner as possible, our goal was to prepare our students to implement playful learning in real classroom situations in their later careers. Thus our goal was that our students would leave the seminar equipped not only with the theoretical and practical skills to take their children on a two-week “class trip” to Middle Earth, but that they would also be able to employ individual elements of gameplay in their teaching in whatever measure they might find effective and appropriate. That is, that they would be able to use the whole Edularp method as well as smaller elements of games and gameplay.

    For this reason we began with an overview of the full breadth of the topic of playful learning, which ranges from learning games (including Edularp) on one end to gamification on the other.

    Gamification - Learning Games

    While participants in learning games are normally aware of the fact that they are playing a game((The so-called alternate reality games (ARGs) represent prominent exceptions: players do not necessarily always know if they are really playing a game. Cf. Gosney, J., 2005)) and thus entering into a kind of alternative reality, this is not the case with gamification. Rather, gamification simply attaches individual elements of games — like badges or a ranking list — to normal reality((Deterding, 2011.)), or uses game design techniques to modify everyday processes and procedures((Cf. Werbach, Kevin, https://class.coursera.org/gamification-002/lecture/22.)).

    The user of a gamified process does not enter into another reality or game world but rather remains fully and completely in the real world. This means that a gamified process is not a game! The goal of gamification is to make everyday processes more interesting, motivating and seemingly more rewarding. A prominent example of gamification is the app Foursquare, in which users can share their current locations (a restaurant, an event, etc.) with friends and in so doing be rewarded with badges. Another non-digital example from a time before the term gamification was coined is collecting frequent flyer miles, which American Airlines introduced in the early 1980s((The customer collects so-called frequent flyer miles with each flight and, if and when they have collected enough, they can then exchange them for prizes, discounts or access to airport lounges. Microsoft’s Rob Smith, who gamified the software testing process for Windows 7, provides another example. He managed to transform the normally very difficult and trying process of finding and notifying translation errors in the dialogue boxes into a fun experience for a total of 4,500 voluntary participants among his coworkers. Cf. http://gamification-research.org/wp-content/ uploads/2013/03/Smith.pdf.)).

    There are also several very successful role models for the use of gamification in the classroom, like the Canadian project World of Classcraft((For more information see: http://www.classcraft.com/en/#intro.)), which gamifies individual school subjects; or the Quest to Learn school in New York City((For more information see: http://q2l.org/.)), which is run according to a fully gamified teaching plan. The didactic method that we taught to our students in the teaching seminar was explicitly intended to prepare them to utilize the entire spectrum between gamification and comprehensive learning games. Thus, the didactic methods we teach enable our students to not only conduct fully-realized Edularps, but to also include individual quests((The term“quest”originates in the classical hero’s journey (cf.Campbell,1999),but in contemporary usage in fantasy literature and computer games it means a task or a puzzle.)) in their normal teaching, as well as to “gamify” their normal lessons.

    Our thinking is that by integrating individual game elements in their lessons they can gain experience teaching with games in school and then, bit by bit, take on larger projects.

    Playful Learning: Learning in Games | A Practical Seminar

    In order to teach the students in our seminar not only the necessary practical competencies for developing and conducting Edularps but also the necessary theoretical knowledge, the seminar was divided into four phases:

    1. Theoretical and practical introduction
    2. Development of the students’ own Edularp
    3. Playing the Edularp
    4. Reflection phase

    The individual phases were divided into a total of ten sessions lasting an average of four hours each. The theoretical and especially the practical presentation of the content was important, but it was also important to impart to the students the knowledge and competencies necessary for successfully developing and realizing projects, like project planning and project management, efficient and sustainable communication within a project, etc.

    Another consideration was that the students should work independently after the introductory phase, but that they should not be left to face the structuring of the process on their own.

    Phase 1: Theoretical and Practical Introduction

    The first phase of the seminar consisted of three sessions. In the first session we introduced the theoretical concept of games, larps, Edularps and alternate reality games (ARGs), as well as the didactic potential of Edularps. Our seminar participants were mostly new to larps, and so we introduced them to the topic by presenting successful examples of Edularps and gamification((We selected Østerskov Efterskole’s Harry Potter game (cf.: Hyltoft, M. and Holm, J.T., 2009) as an example of a successful Edularp. As an exceptional example of gamification we chose the Quest to Learn school (cf. http://q2l.org/). As an example of experience-based learning in a larp we selected “Prisoner for a Day” (cf. Aarebrot, E. and Nielsen, M., 2012).)).

    In order to impart to our students on a practical level what Edularps are and how it feels to take part in one, in the second session we enacted the four-hour interdisciplinary Edularp “Der Kreuz des Wotans” (Cross of Odin)((In the Edularp Der Kreuz des Wotans players must foil a cult’s plans for a terrorist bombing. The
    Edularp was written by Myriel Balzer, Julia Kurz and Tinke Albach.)) so that they would participate in one themselves.

    For the third session the participants prepared an elevator pitch((An elevator pitch is a very brief and pointed presentation of a project intended to persuade the
    listener to support it.The name comes from the fact that in an elevator one only has the duration of the ride to win the other party over.)) as a homework assignment. Their task in preparation for the session was to think of a gripping story idea for an Edularp and to sketch out a learning quest and the intended learning content. They then had five minutes each to present their ideas at the start of the session as concisely and compellingly as possible, with the intent of persuading the others of the value of their own story ideas.

    The goal of this introduction was that the students would be able to begin the development phase with a pool of ideas, rather than have to be creative “on demand” at the start of the practical phase. Building on the pitches, we then discussed what makes a good story, what elements a good game requires, and how a good learning quest should look.

    In the second half of the session we presented the core of the seminar, the so- called game organization document (GOD), with which the students would have to develop and conduct their own Edularp in the subsequent practical phase. (A current version of the GOD can be downloaded from www.phoenixgamedesign.de free of charge.)

    Phase 2 and 3: Development and Implementation of the Edularp

    Since most of our students had no experience with larps or Edularps, it was important for us to give them a guide for their independent work. It was intended to guide them through the various phases of development, provide them with a concrete timeframe and schedule, and help them as much as possible to avoid overlooking any relevant steps or decisions. The game organization document (GOD) arose from these concerns.

    The GOD is a form that asks the game developers to specify and explain all the key criteria for the game. In the course of defining and explaining the parameters specified in the generalized GOD, a specific game design document (GDD) for the Edularp under development begins to take shape bit by bit.

    The game organization document is divided into seven categories:

    1. Constraints
    2. Project planning
    3. Learning content
    4. Storytelling
    5. External setup
    6. Game design
    7. Documents, materials, props, resources

    Category 1: Constraints

    The category Constraints includes all the requirements that the game absolutely must fulfil and that have already been specified or must be specified before the start of development. They may include conditions specified by third parties as well as requirements set by the developers themselves. They include things like the number as well as type(s) of participants (age, degree of fitness, etc.) and also factors like the resources that are available (e.g. budget or team strength) and the planned development time.

    Category 2: Project Planning

    The category Project Planning covers the composition of the team and the division of labor as well as the schedule, the communication pipelines((Communication pipelines are the ways in which the various members of a team should communicate with each other.)), and plans for documentation and data management.

    Category 3: Learning Content

    In the category Learning Content the developers are asked to define concretely the learning content that is to be conveyed by the game. This is also where the type of learning content (soft skills, hard skills, competences, experience, etc.) is specified. Our teaching students were also required to refer to the school curricula they were using in specific parts of the game.

    Category 4: Storytelling

    The category Storytelling includes all the elements that deal with the game’s story. This is where the developers formulate the plot. Its development and progress are delineated on a timeline. This is also where they define the setting, genre and topic of the game and specify the staging and dramaturgical elements.

    Category 5: External Setup

    In the category External Setup the developers are charged with determining all the elements of the game that are not immediate components of the actual game. That means all the elements that take place before the beginning or after the end of the actual game, like pre-workshops, warm- ups, debriefings, the transfer of learning content, the evaluation of the game, and/ or pervasive elements((Cf. Montola, Stenros, Waern, 2009.)). Not every Edularp requires all the elements listed under this category. But it makes sense to consider all the elements and whether or not one’s own game requires them.

    Category 6: Game Design

    The category Game Design contains the template for the core of the future game design document. This is where the developers describe and visualize the construction of the game and its degree of linearity. This is where they define the victory conditions and determine whether the game can be won cooperatively or competitively.

    They define possible game rules — both regulative rules and constitutive rules, as well as possible rules of irrelevance((Regulative rules are those that we typically refer to as the rules of the game. Constitutive rules,
    as the name suggests, constitute the game and, for example, define roles and specify key rules or
    victory conditions.The rules of irrelevance state that certain objects or facts should be ignored and
    thus allow the actual gamespace to exist (cf. Denker and Ballstaedt, 1976, pp. 58).)). They formulate the call to action as well as the intended player motivation, and define points of interest((In this context, a point of interest is the next “point” on which the player should focus. For instance, finding the key to a locked door.)).They determine whether the players take on roles during the game, and who writes them; and they define the game world. In this category the developers explicitly define all the quests that occur in the game, describing their construction, learning goal(s), style, necessary additional knowledge, etc.

    Category 7: Documents, Materials, Props, Resources

    The final category Documents, Materials, Props, Resources determines what items are required for the game. All the texts that the players will have access to before, during or after the game, as well as those required for dealing with players, NPCs and game masters (such as in-game contacts or NPC briefings) are also attached here.

    This explicit querying of all the important points of the Edularp successfully prevents inexperienced students from overlooking one or more points or failing to give them enough attention. In this seminar we also used the GOD to provide the students with a structured time frame. Thus each of the seven categories had its own deadline, specifying when each unit had to be presented to the instructors in its most-finished version. We thus made it impossible for the students to procrastinate and then attempt to get everything done at the last moment((Experienced planners need not adhere to the order in the GOD, though it will often make sense to do so. And of course, it is not possible to work out all the points separately from each other.)).

    While relying on the GOD and the deadlines, the students developed their own Edularp as independently as possible over the course of the following five sessions. We were present during the work sessions and instructed the students that they should create a goal-oriented agenda for each session and ensure that they followed it. Upon completion of each point on the agenda, the students briefly presented their results and we gave them feedback. We also intervened in discussions or development processes here and there when they were in danger of heading in the wrong direction, and we were always available for questions. At the end of the practical phase we played through the Edularp with the students step by step a couple of times (on a theoretical level, without the full staging, etc.), checked it together for logic and consistency, and developed answers for worst-case scenarios.

    An Edularp of Their Own

    The students’ Edularp was played on the penultimate session and lasted almost exactly four hours. Our students took on all the relevant duties themselves, with the exception of one NPC role. Two of our students served as gamemasters and four others played NPC roles. They also arranged for a student from the university to play an additional NPC and for six others to take part as players; our students organized their participation independently.

    In general the process of conducting their first independently designed Edularp was surprisingly smooth and went impressively according to plan. Their tightly-planned schedule functioned very well, and the players managed to work through the entire plot by approx. 5:30 pm (the plan called for them to finish between 5:20 and 5:45 pm). We only intervened once, at the request of both gamemasters, and guided their players back to the right path with a spontaneous NPC improvisation.

    Otherwise we simply observed the entire run-through — while making ourselves available for consultation in case of uncertainty on the part of the gamemasters and NPCs — and we tried to avoid getting involved as much as possible.

    The game design document for their Edularp — which describes the story and design of the game, etc. — can be downloaded from the author’s website (www.phoenixgamedesign.de) free of charge.

    The Reflection Phase

    In the last session we all sat together and discussed the seminar in general as well as the students’ Edularp In the course of the seminar we had our students fill out numerous reflection questionnaires regarding the seminar, the GOD and the initial Edularp that we conducted for them: our students also had their own players fill out reflection questionnaires regarding their own larp.

    Edularp and Back Again

    In principle it can be said that the seminar was a complete success. However, with the benefit of hindsight and feedback there are also some things that we would surely do differently in a future session. We have thus drastically shortened the theoretical portion of the first session for future seminars based on the students’ feedback. Naturally, those students who have no experience with larps must first be properly introduced to the topic.

    But the ability to absorb information, especially in the course of a four-hour session, is limited and the primary emphasis of the seminar is on practice rather than theory. According to the students it was the Edularp that they played in the second session that really awakened their interest and their desire to try it out themselves. The examples of successful Edularps in the first session were less important.

    Many of them wrote in their reflection questionnaires that it was only through their own participation that they really understood what an Edularp is. Many found the theoretical portion “unimportant” for the independent game development that followed. In the reflection questionnaires the game development process using the GOD was generally described positively, even though the responses did draw attention to a few stumbling blocks.

    The students had particular trouble with the Learning Content category, which they felt appeared too early in the GOD. They would have preferred to specify the learning content in the course of developing the quest. However, since teachers must work according to prescribed curricula, we consciously chose this particular sequence to better reflect the realities of the job.

    The students also had trouble with the new terminology. Although at the beginning of the practical phase we went over the GOD with them in detail and explained all the terminology in detail, the meaning of individual terms was nonetheless quickly forgotten because they were not documented. Today we would thus distribute a sort of glossary along with the game organization document.

    The majority of the students wrote in the questionnaire that the Project Planning category was especially helpful. At the same time, they noted that they only gradually came to understand the importance of well-structured and explicit project management.

    In our opinion the most central element of the success of the seminar was the game organization document and the clear scheduling requirements it prescribed for the individual tasks.

    Additionally, it was important that the students were required to work in an organized and structured manner, and that they received guidance in doing so. The regular reflection and feedback rounds helped identify and confirm good ideas while rooting out as early as possible ideas that fell outside the scope of the Edularp.

    Works Cited

    Aarebrot, E. and Nielsen, M. “Prisoner for a Day. Creating a game without winners”, in Aarebrot, E., et. al. (Eds.), Playing the learning game: A practical introduction to educational roleplaying, based on experiences from The Larpwriter Challenge, Fantasi Forbundet, Oslo, pp. 24–29, 2012.

    Aristotle, Die Nikomachische Ethik. Auf der Grundlage der Übersetzung von Eugen Rohfes herausgegeben von Günther Bien. 4. Auflage. Hamburg: Meiner, 1985.

    Baer, U., Spielpädagogik: Arbeitsblätter zur Spielepädagogik, Robin Hood Versand, Remscheid, 1982.

    Balzer, M., Live Action Role Playing: Die Entwicklung realer Kompetenzen in virtuellen Welten, Tectum-Verlag, Marburg, 2009.

    Brougère, G., Some Elements Relating to Children’s Play and Adult Simulation/ Gaming. Simulation & Gaming, 30(2), 134-146., “Surplus Reality” in Moreno, J. L. (1965). Therapeutic Vehicles and the Concept of Surplus Reality. Group Psychotherapy and Psychodrama, 18, 211- 216, 1999.

    Campbell, J., Der Heros in tausend Gestalten, Insel-Verlag, Frankfurt am Main, 1999.

    Corbeil, P., Learning from the Children: Practical and Theoretical Reflections on Playing and Learning. Simulation & Gaming, 30(2), 163-180. 1999.

    Deterding, Sebastian et. al., Gamification: Toward a Definition (PDF; 136 kB). In: Mindtrek 2011 Proceedings, ACM Press, Tampere, 2011.

    Denker, R., Ballstaedt, S., Aggression im Spiel – mit Anleitungen zu Gruppen und Gesellschaftsspielen, Stuttgart: Verlag W. Kohlhammer GmbH, 1976.

    Goffman, E., Rahmen-Analyse. Frankfurt/M.: Suhrkamp. Oder der magic circle of gameplay, 1977.

    Gosney, J., Beyond reality: A guide to alternate reality gaming, Thomson Course Technology PTR, Boston, MA, 2005.

    Henriksen, T.D., “Extending Experiences of Learning Games. Or Why Learning Games Should Be neither Fun, Educational nor Realistic”, in Leino, O., Wirman, H. and Fernandez, A. (Eds.), Extending Experiences: Structure, analysis and design of computer game player experience, Lapland University Press, Rovaniemi, pp. 140–162, 2008.

    Huizinga, J., Homo ludens: Vom Ursprung der Kultur im Spiel, rororo Rowohlts Enzyklopädie, Vol. 55435, 21. Aufl., Rowohl Taschenbuch- Verl., Reinbek bei Hamburg. 1938/1939.

    Hyltoft, M., “The Role-Players’ School. Østerskov Efterskole”, in Montola, M. and Stenros, J. (Eds.), Playground Worlds: Creating and Evaluating Experiences of Role-Playing Games, Published in conjunction with Solmukohta 2008, Ropecon ry, pp. 12–25, 2008.

    Hyltoft, M. and Holm, J.T., “Elements of Harry Potter. Deconstructing an edu-larp”, in Holter, M., Fatland, E. and Tømte, E. (Eds.), Larp, the Universe and Everything: An anthology on the theory and practice of live role-playing (larp), published in conjunction with Knutepunkt 2009, pp. 27–42, 2009.

    Hyltoft, M., “Four Reasons why Edu- Larp works”, in Dombrowski, K. (Ed.), LARP: Einblicke, Aufsatzsammlung zum Mittelpunkt 2010, Zauberfeder Verlag, Braunschweig, pp. 43–58., 2010.

    McGonigal, J., Reality is Broken: Why Games Make Us Better and How They Can Change the World; [includes practical advice for gamers], Vintage Books, London. pp. 119ff, 2012.

    Montola, M.; Stenros, J.; Waren, A., Pervasive Games – Experiences on the Boundary Between Life and Play, Morgan Kaufmann Publishers, 2008.

    Moreno, J.L., “Therapeutic vehicles and the concept of surplus reality”, Group Psychotherapy, Vol. 18, pp. 211-216, 1965.

    Suits, B., The grasshopper: Games, life and utopia, Broadview Press, Peterborough, Ont., 2005.

    van Ameln, F. und Kramer Josef, “Wirkprinzipien handlungsorientierter Beratungs- und Trainingsmethoden”, Zeitschrift für Gruppendynamik und Organisationsberatung, Vol. 38 No. 4, pp. 389–406, 2007.

    Vester, F., Denken, Lernen, Vergessen. Stuttgart: dtv, 1978.

    Internet Resources


    This article was initially published in The Knudepunkt 2015 Companion Book which was edited by Charles Bo Nielsen & Claus Raasted, published by Rollespilsakademiet and released as part of documentation for the Knudepunkt 2015 conference.


    Cover photo: Stockholm Scenario Festival 2014 by Johannes Axner is licensed under CC BY 2.0.

  • Bleed: The Spillover Between Player and Character

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    Bleed: The Spillover Between Player and Character

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    Participants often engage in role-playing in order to step inside the shoes of another person in a fictional reality that they consider “consequence-free.” However, role-players sometimes experience moments where their real life feelings, thoughts, relationships, and physical states spill over into their characters’ and vice versa. In role-playing studies, we call this phenomenon bleed.((Markus Montola, “The Positive Negative Experience in Extreme Role-playing.” Proceedings of DiGRA Nordic 2010: Experiencing Games: Games, Play, and Players, 2010Sarah Lynne Bowman, “Social Conflict in Role-playing Communities: An Exploratory Qualitative Study,” International Journal of Role-Playing 4, 2013, pp.17-18.))

    Bleed is neither inherently negative nor positive. Some players erect strong mental boundaries between themselves and their characters in order to avoid bleed. Others consciously seek bleed experiences by “playing close to home.”((Jeepform Dictionary, “Bleed,” Jeepen.org.)) Similarly, some games are designed with the intention of drawing people as far outside of their normal lives as possible through fantastic elements or improbable circumstances. Others are built with the specific goal of inducing a strong emotional reaction in the players and encouraging them to contemplate how the fiction relates to their own lives.

    Bleed: How Emotions Affect Role-Playing Experiences – Sarah Lynne Bowman

    Regardless of player or designer motivations, sometimes bleed occurs without prompting. These experiences can often come as a surprise, especially when the players are unprepared and have no tools for how to discuss about or manage bleed. This article will explain the phenomenon from a theoretical perspective, detail some of the types of bleed, examine the debates surrounding the concept, and suggest some strategies for managing bleed experiences.

    The Phenomenon of Bleed

    Explaining the phenomenon of bleed first requires establishing some basic vocabulary to help understand the role-playing experience as a whole. First, when we enter the game from the outside, we adopt a new set of social rules, both implicit and explicit.((Markus Montola, “Social Reality in Role-playing Games,” in The Foundation Stone of Nordic Larp, edited by Eleanor Saitta, Marie Holm-Andersen, and Jon Back (Toptryk Grafisk, Denmark: Knutpunkt, 2014), 103-112.)) These social rules function on an in-character level, e.g., this former warship is actually a spaceship; when a character throws a packet, it symbolizes a fireball; when a player speaks, they are portraying a noblewoman, not their real world profession; etc. Out-of-game social rules also apply, e.g., we will stay in-character for the duration of the experience; we will avoid touching without permission; we will observe safe words when used; etc. Collectively, these rules make up the social contract of the game.((Shoshana Kessock, “Ethical Content Management and the Gaming Social Contract,” in The Wyrd Con Companion Book 2013, edited by Sarah Lynne Bowman and Aaron Vanek (Los Angeles, CA: Wyrd Con), 102-111.)) When the social contract is established, players can enter safety the magic circle, a poetic term describing the rules, identities, and occurrences within the game space.((Johan Huizinga, Homo Ludens: A Study of the Play-Element in Culture (Boston, MA: Beacon Press, 1958); Katie Salen and Eric Zimmerman, Rules of Play: Game Design Fundamentals (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2004); Markus Montola, On the Edge of the Magic Circle. Understanding Role-Playing and Pervasive Games, Doctoral Dissertation (Tampere, Finland: Tampere University Press, 2012).))

    Diagram of role-playing studies terminology, including the relationship between bleed and alibi. Image by Mat Walker.
    Diagram of role-playing studies terminology, including the relationship between bleed and alibi. Image by Mat Auryn. Design by Sarah Lynne Bowman.

    Perhaps the most important facet of the social contract is the alibi, in which players accept the premise that any actions in the game are taken by the character, not by the player.((Markus Montola and Jussi Holopainen, “First Person Audience and Painful Role-playing,” in Immersive Gameplay, edited by Evan Torner and William J. White (Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2012).)) Phrases like, “It wasn’t me, it was my character” and “It’s what my character would have done” are a direct result of the benefit of alibi. In principle, no individual is responsible for their actions in-character if those events could unfold plausibly within the fiction.

    Alibi has a direct correlation with bleed: the stronger the alibi, the weaker the bleed. Alternately, playing close to home provides an inherently weaker alibi. For example, if a player has children in real life, playing a parent in a game will likely produce greater bleed and lesser alibi. The player might strengthen the alibi by establishing very different relationship dynamics between the character and the fictional children, thereby affording added distance. Alternately, the player can choose to push toward a greater degree of bleed by using the real names of his or her real life children in-game.

    None of these choices will ensure the participant will experience greater or lesser bleed, however. Bleed is not a factor players can necessarily control. In fact, bleed is largely an unconscious process when it occurs, whereas a conscious choice on the part of the player to alter the course of the character is known as steering.((Markus Montola, Jaakko Stenros, and Eleanor Saitta, “The Art of Steering: Bringing the Player and the Character Back Together,” in The Knudepunkt 2015 Companion Book, edited by Charles Bo Nielsen and Claus Raasted (Copenhagen, Denmark: Rollespilsakademiet, 2015), 10-117.)) Therefore, a player can steer toward greater bleed by pushing factors that are likely to cause a bleed response, but bleed is not guaranteed.((Mike Pohjola, “Steering for Immersion in Five Nordic Larps: A New Understanding of Eläytyminen,” in The Knudepunkt 2015 Companion Book, edited by Charles Bo Nielsen and Claus Raasted (Copenhagen, Denmark: Rollespilsakademiet, 2015), 10-117.)) Alternately, players can steer away from potentially emotionally impacting factors, but end up affected by them nonetheless.

    A character at the post-apocalyptic game Dystopia Rising: Lone Star in Texas mourns the death of his in-game wife, an event that took months to emotionally process. A character at the post-apocalyptic game Dystopia Rising: Lone Star in Texas mourns the death of his in-game wife, an event that took months to emotionally process. (Play, Sarah Lynne Bowman)
    Characters at DR Lone Star comfort someone after she finds out her in-game family member just died. All photos by Sarah Lynne Bowman. Characters at DR Lone Star comfort someone after she finds out her in-game family member just died. All photos by Sarah Lynne Bowman. (Play, Sarah Lynne Bowman)

    Types of Bleed

    Bleed comes in two major forms: bleed-in – when the emotions, thoughts, relationship dynamics, and physical states of the player affect the character – and bleed-out, the opposite process.((Montola, “Positive Negative”; Bowman, “Social Conflict.”)) A bleed feedback loop is also observable, when it becomes difficult to tell where the player begins and the character ends, especially in emotionally overwhelming situations. For example, in games where players experience sleep deprivation and constant attacks from enemies, the exhausted mind may have difficulty distinguishing between a “fake” attack and a “real” one. This phenomenon does not mean that the player is incapable of upholding the magic circle, but rather that the intensity of emotion has become overwhelming to the mind, causing confusion and difficulties with immediate processing and distancing.

    Bleed is most often described in terms of emotional experiences, as emotions are the least conscious and most spontaneous aspects of enactment. However, other factors are connected with emotional reactions. Out-of-game thoughts are often interwoven with emotional responses, e.g. “I can’t believe Johnny is insulting my character. He always acts this way when we play together,” which may later induce an angry outburst in-character. Also, relationship dynamics can affect bleed. If two players are best friends out-of-game, they may unconsciously replicate that dynamic within the magic circle.

    Physical states can also produce bleed, especially sleep deprivation or exhaustion, which weaken the mental defenses of the players and makes them more susceptible to impulsive emotional responses. Many games, such as high-immersion combat larps, are built upon this principle, though the designers may not realize that they are creating a game designed to produce a bleed effect.

    Another type of bleed is termed ego bleed by Whitney “Strix” Beltrán.((Whitney “Strix” Beltran, “Yearning for the Hero Within: Live Action Role-Playing as Engagement with Mythical Archetypes,” in Wyrd Con Companion 2012, edited by Sarah Lynne Bowman and Aaron Vanek (Los Angeles, CA: Wyrd Con, 2012), 91-98.)) Ego bleed occurs when the contents of the player’s personality spillover into the character’s and vice versa. This effect is most measurable when players claim to have learned skills from their in-game experiences that become useful in reality, such as leadership, seduction, etc. However, prolonged immersion into antisocial characteristics such as violent plotting and social backstabbing may impact negatively the participants’ personalities, affecting their relationships with other players out-of-game.((Whitney “Strix” Beltran, “Shadow Work: A Jungian Perspective on the Underside of Live Action Role-Play in the United States,” in The Wyrd Con Companion Book 2013, edited by Sarah Lynne Bowman and Aaron Vanek (Los Angeles, CA: Wyrd Con, 2013), 94-101.)) This issue is particularly problematic in campaign play, where long-term immersion into a particular character or fiction without distinct stopping points can produce what Gary Alan Fine calls overinvolvement, a phenomenon in which the players do not sufficiently shed the role and fail to fully reintegrate into their mundane lives.((Gary Alan Fine, Shared Fantasy: Role-playing Games as Social Worlds (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1983).))

    At its most positive, bleed experiences can produce moments of catharsis: when the player and character emotions are synced in a powerful moment of emotional expression. Most often, these experiences manifest in great displays of joy, love, anger, or grief; in-game crying is often associated with bleed.((Sarah Lynne Bowman, “Bleed: How Emotions Affect Role-playing Experiences,” Nordic Larp Talks Oslo, 2013.)) Regardless of their original intentions for alibi, players often call these cathartic experiences their Golden Moments, perhaps because the alibi of the game is still strong enough to allow them the opportunity to express emotions they might otherwise feel inhibited to share in real life.

    A character in DR Lone Star experiences a cathartic moment, crying for the death of his mother during his baptism scene into a new religion. A character in DR Lone Star experiences a cathartic moment, crying for the death of his mother during his baptism scene into a new religion. (Play, Sarah Lynne Bowman)
    Other characters comfort him, letting him know he has friends and is not alone. In-character support can help lessen the negative impact of bleed. Other characters comfort him, letting him know he has friends and is not alone. In-character support can help lessen the negative impact of bleed. (Play, Sarah Lynne Bowman)

    However, not all bleed experiences are considered positive.((Bowman, “Social Conflict”)) Players may, for example, feel lasting aggression toward someone who acted antagonistically toward their character in-game. Such feelings may do damage to their out-of-game relationships. Intimate love connections can also form in games as the result of bleed. While some of these relationships may translate well to the outside world, with happy couples forming as a result, in-game relationships also run the risk of damaging existing intimate bonds by complicating established boundaries or invoking jealousy.((Gordon Olmstead-Dean, “Impact of Relationships on Games,” in Lifelike, edited by Jesper Donnis, Morten Gade and Line Thorup (Copenhagen: Projektgruppen KP07, 2007), 195-210; Bowman, “Social Conflict.”))

    In-game wedding at DR Lone Star after a year of in-character courtship. The characters are romantically involved, but the players are not. In-game wedding at DR Lone Star after a year of in-character courtship. The characters are romantically involved, but the players are not. (Play, Sarah Lynne Bowman)
    In-game wedding at DR Lone Star after a year of in-character courtship. The characters are romantically involved, but the players are not. In-game wedding at DR Lone Star after a year of in-character courtship. The characters are romantically involved, but the players are not. (Play, Sarah Lynne Bowman)

    Finally, distinguishing between bleed and psychological triggers is important. As Maury Brown explains, psychological triggers in role-playing occur when some sort of stimuli activates a previous traumatic memory and induces a response.((Maury Brown, “Pulling the Trigger on Player Agency: How Psychological Intrusion in Larps Affect Game Play,” in The Wyrd Con Companion Book 2014, edited by Sarah Lynne Bowman (Los Angeles, CA: Wyrd Con), 96-111.)) Trigger responses can range from mild to severe. While triggers are a form of bleed-in, as they represent aspects of the player’s psychology affecting the character experience, not all bleed moments are “triggers.” Safety precautions such as in-game signaling and safe words can help community members distinguish between a player having a cathartic bleed moment and reliving the disruptive triggering of previous trauma.

    Debates Surrounding Bleed

    Some role-playing communities consider bleed a taboo subject. Because of the so-called Satanic Panic((Stark, Lizzie. Leaving Mundania: Inside the Transformative World of Live Action Role-playing Games. Chicago, IL: Chicago Review Press, 2012.)) and other alarmist outside perceptions of the dangers of role-playing – e.g., Mazes and Monsters, The Wild Hunt, Knights of Badassdom – many participants have endured decades of stigma. Fears around role-playing center upon the assumption that immersion into another person and fictional world will make the individual lose touch with reality and forget who they are. On the extreme end, religious conservatives fear that role-players will become involved in the occult and start using magic “for real” (see the Chick Tracts, recently dramatized in the film Dark Dungeons).

    Therefore, role-players are extremely sensitive to these allegations and often wish to distance themselves as much as possible from the perception of becoming “too close” to the character. Individuals who experience bleed and suffer negative consequences, such as players who feel long-term grief as the result of losing a character, might get shamed or otherwise ostracized from certain gaming groups. Some role-players refuse to admit that bleed exists and become defensive at the concept itself, wishing to reinforce the alibi at all costs. Often, these individuals do not wish to be held personally responsible for anything that their character does in-game, which is understandable. However, an airtight alibi can promote a dismissive attitude toward communal problems such as in-game bullying by individuals and cliques. Denying that participants can become personally impacted by game events erases the experience of many players and silences their ability to ask for help.

    Ultimately, I believe that denying the existence of the real phenomenon of bleed is not an effective strategy to manage it in role-playing communities. Instead, I suggest that groups adopt a common terminology and a set of techniques to help people experience greater emotional depths in-character and return back to their lives with minimal negative impact.

    Strategies to Manage Bleed

    Whether or not participants intend to play for bleed, the impact of bleed experiences can become quite intense for some individuals. Players with a strong distance between self and character may find themselves mystified when another participant feels long-lasting emotional devastation at the loss of an in-game companion, for example. I believe that we should acknowledge that the perspectives of both of these types of players are valid: those who experience strong bleed and those who do not. Furthermore, as a community, we can learn strategies to help individuals recover who feel emotionally overwhelmed or confused after a game is done.((Johanna Koljonen, Peter Munthe-Kaas, Bjarke Pedersen, and Jaakko Stenros, “The Great Player Safety Controversy,” Panel at Solmukohta 2012,  Nurmijärvi, Finland, April 13, 2012; Johanna Koljonen, “The Second Great Player Safety Controversy,” Presentation at Knutepunkt 2013, Haraldvangen, Norway, April 19, 2013; Johanna Koljonen, “Safety in Larp,” Presentation at the Larpwriter Summer School 2013, Vilnius, Lithuania, last modified Aug. 1, 2013, YouTube, Fantasiforbundet, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qho9O_EMG34; Johanna Koljonen, “Emotional and Physical Safety in Larp – Larpwriter Summer School 2014,” Presentation at the Larpwriter Summer School 2014, Vilnius, Lithuania, last modified Aug. 3, 2014, YouTube, Fantasiforbundet, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g-cPmM2bDcU.))

    One such strategy is called in-game signaling. During role-playing, in-game signaling techniques help players communicate to one another if bleed has become too intense. Games may employ hand gestures, safe words, “okay” symbols, written check marks, or other methods that enable players to indicate to one another whether or not they are overwhelmed or in need of a break. In order for these signals to be effective, the organizers and role-playing community must reinforce and encourage their use. In other words, players should feel safe to opt-out of a scene at any time and should not feel pressured to continue in order to avoid “ruining” the game for others.

    At a briefing before the Planetfall larp in Austin, Texas, organizers explain how to signal backing away from a scene by placing a hand behind the neck. (Play, Sarah Lynne Bowman) At a briefing before the Planetfall larp in Austin, Texas, organizers explain how to signal backing away from a scene by placing a hand behind the neck. (Play, Sarah Lynne Bowman)
    In DR Lone Star, an NPC player signals being off-game with a hand over her head and a whooshing sound, to be interpreted by characters as “the wind.” In DR Lone Star, an NPC player signals being off-game with a hand over her head and a whooshing sound, to be interpreted by characters as “the wind.” (Play, Sarah Lynne Bowman)

    An important post-game strategy is creating rituals of de-roleing. De-roleing is a method by which the player ritually casts aside the role and re-enters their former identity. Some strategies for de-roleing include: players removing an article of their characters’ clothing and placing it before them in the circle; participants stating what they want to take with them from the character and what they want to leave behind; organizers leading players through a guided meditation to ease their transition; etc. These symbolic actions allow players to switch from the frame of the character to the player in a manner that is less jarring than a hard stop.

    Debriefing is another useful strategy to help players process their emotions. Creating a formal space after the game for players to express their feelings and share stories in a serious manner often helps contextualize bleed. Additionally, assigning a “debriefing buddy” provides players with a safety net for private communication after the larp with another participant. Positive, out-of-character communication with other players who were part of intense scenes may help alleviate lasting negative feelings, e.g. “I’m sorry that my character was so cruel to you in-game. Would you like to talk about it?” For a more extensive discussion on debriefing, refer to my article in this series, “Returning to the Real World.”((Sarah Lynne Bowman, “Returning to the Real World: Debriefing After Role-playing Games,” Nordiclarp.org, Dec. 8, 2014.))

    Informally, players also can engage in out-of-game socializing, such as dinners, afterparties, charity events, etc. These events help players feel connected to the community outside of the context of the fiction and their characters. Social events reinforce the co-creative nature of the role-playing experience and open up spaces for dialogue about the game, allowing for greater communication. Online forums and social media can also work toward this aim if used with the intention of building out-of-game community.

    Some players find writing a useful strategy for managing bleed. Examples include journaling in- or out-of-character, writing a letter to one’s character, creating new stories around that persona, sharing written game memories with other participants, etc. Telling war stories to each other is another popular method of sharing. Externalizing the experiences in a linear fashion, whether verbally or on paper, seems to help immensely by allowing players the chance to reframe their story in a manageable way.

    Further strategies include becoming immersed in other experiences. Some people can easily throw themselves into their work, while others have difficulty returning back to daily life. Often, the first 48 hours after a weekend-long game can prove difficult in terms of adjustment. Playing video games, another role-playing game, or immersing into another fictional reality like a television show can help ease this transition. Most importantly, adequate sleep, eating, and hygiene can help reset a player’s psychological state to some semblance of normality. For more information, see my article with Evan Torner on “Post-Larp Depression.”((Sarah Lynne Bowman and Evan Torner, “Post-Larp Depression,” Analog Game Studies 1, no. 1. (1 Aug 2014).))

    A Collective Experience

    Regardless of the degree of immersion or bleed each player feels, ultimately the role-playing experience is a co-creative and collective one. Understanding bleed and developing tools for compassionately managing intense emotional reactions can help role-playing communities reach deeper levels of trust and collaboration. Recognizing that each individual contributes an important part to the whole is an important step in this process. A healthy community is made up of individuals who feel safe and able to openly communicate with one another about their experiences.


    Cover photo: Characters at DR Lone Star attend an in-game funeral to mourn their lost friends. In-game ceremonies are one way of coping with strong emotions within the frame of the magic circle (Play, Sarah Lynne Bowman).

  • Ingame or Offgame? Towards a Typology of Frame Switching Between In-character and Out-of-character

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    Ingame or Offgame? Towards a Typology of Frame Switching Between In-character and Out-of-character

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    For the Moscow and St. Petersburg larp communities, continuous immersion into the game and into the character seems to be the central point of the larp process. Larp rules proclaim continuity of game, and players generally disapprove one’s going out of the character while playing. This attitude is, however, more declarative than a reflection of the practice as it can be observed: larpers, even the most experienced, of course, do drop out of character.

    I got interested in how people perceive themselves and their co-players dropping out of characters, and have studied this topic for my MA thesis. I have collected a database of 600 cases of frame switching at larp using systematic self-observation and analyzed them from the point of view of Goffman’s frame analysis.

    The database collected with the help of 15 players has data from 13 larp in which I took part and from some other larp events. I proposed a classification of triggers that cause dropping out of character that reveals some features of this phenomenon. In this paper, I won’t dwell on the triggers themselves, but will concentrate on the ways in which larpers switch from in-game to out-of-game frame.

    In what follows, a classification of switching types is presented.

    Figure 1

    The first division is based on the social expression of frame switching: we distinguish between those which are externally expressed and thus become part of social interaction, and those which take place in a participant’s mind and get no expression.

    When considered as phenomena of individual consciousness, all frame switchings are first of all “internal” in a sense, like diegesis is a fact of the players’ consciousness (Montola 2012).

    Meanwhile, the game world is a result of mutually agreed behaviors of the participants. Its creation and maintenance involves coordinated activities, some of which belonging not to the game itself but to its meta-level, and so require frame switching.

    Here is an example((Examples from my database contain references to game titles marked with bold italic.)) of internal switching that is essentially an inner experience that disturbs immersion and indirectly influences the participant’s behavior.

    “The First Age”: Sure, there are a lot of reasons why immersion is difficult to reach: for example, playing with close friends makes me think, like, “Oh, it’s just my friend P eter wearing a garb!” So I try to avoid playing with them, but it is not always possible.

    External switchings fall into two broad categories: those which comprise a signal to mark frame change and those which are unmarked.

    Both types occur systematically, but the latter are usually perceived negatively, whereas the former are regarded more acceptable.

    Two kinds of markers are employed to index a frame change, verbal and non- verbal. The Russian verbal marker resembles the Western practice of safewords: the utterance of a conventional word immediately turns ongoing interaction into out-of-game mode (Brenne 2005).

    A safeword is a control device that is used to maintain participants’ psychophysiological conditions to inform partners about the sender’s current troubles having to do with the everyday world.

    In the Russian community, in order to pause the game, either local equivalents of “break” and “cut” are used (literally “out of the game”, “in the real world”) or real life names of participants or their nicknames are employed for address instead of their characters’ names.

    The verbal markers appear in case of meta- game disputes, in occasional conversation about events in participants’ real life or bodily states, or when asking for pause or help.

    It is often uncertainty about partner’s physical condition that makes a player turn to out-of-game question, cf.:

    “There is a craft”: Somebody noticed blood (real) on my eye: What happened to your eye? Oh, it’s a memento about my fail in a combat with a strong monster! It won’t heal until I find him again and kill him. Are you serious?
    (Whispering) And out of play?
    (Smiling) Everything’s OK.

    Non-verbal markers include frame switching signals of various kinds, such as:

    Tactile contact: to approach closely, to hug, to take a partner’s hand, to take aside. This kind of switching markers are used when the rules of the game world ban these proximating behaviors.

    It should be kept in mind that, as far as I can judge from my participant observation at Knutepunkt 2014, Russian larps generally involve less physical contact than the Nordic ones.

    Since most Russian larp game worlds represent a variation of hierarchic society with interpersonal etiquette differing from the way people communicate in everyday life, demonstrations of egalitarian and friendly relationship can signal frame switchings.

    Conventional gestures: hands crossed over the head represent the character’s absence from the game world; a gesture like a time- out signal used in sports like basketball and American football is performed to accompany an out-of-character utterance.

    Facial expression: winking, “hinting” face, expressive gaze.

    Non-verbal characteristics of utterances: lowering the pitch, whispering, prosodic emphasis to index an implicit meaning. Utterances like these often pretend to camouflage the reference to out-of-game things, so as not to break explicitly the magic circle of the game, cf:

    Deathly hallows: Towards the end of the game, during an in-game conversation S. (male) approaches closely to me and asks me while lowering his voice if he can interrupt my playing. I agree. S. asks me to speak to M. (female) who is playing his sister, because she needs a relaxing talk, and his own talk to her has obviously not been enough.

    I call M.’s character, take her hand (my character used to avoid any bodily contact), take her nearer to me, bow to her ear and address to her with her real life name. I ask her whether she wants to speak out-of-game. She agrees eagerly, we enter an empty room together, she expresses her negative emotions connected with playing and participants’ behavior. W e leave the room and continue playing when we hear noise outside.

    In this example, the frame switches are expressed with a range of signals: approaching closer than regular social distance, that is, entering intimate distance, lowering the voice (opposed to what is required for characters’ interaction in the game-world), touching, and verbal means (out-of-game name and expression “out of game”).

    Along with cases where frame switch is explicitly announced, there are some in which the player’s speech is recognized by co-players as such, but it is merged with the character’s speech without specially marked borders.

    Conscious Unmarked Switchings

    Explicit out-of-game utterance is a prototypical case of unmarked and unmasked frame swithing. It usually interrupts diegesis in a rather rude way making participants have to cope with an inappropriate element.

    In the following example speaker A unexpectedly shifts from the character’s speech to the player’s one, mentioning meta-game problems and the game master’s nickname that confuses the partner:

    “France: the Cold Summer of 1939”: An in-game conversation in a pub:

    A: I am looking for my wife. And I’d like to find Bird.
    B: What bird?…
    A: W ell, Bird, our game master. N ew players have arrived and are waiting for the check-in.

    Implicit switching is an action (utterance, gesture) with a hidden agenda; it looks adequate from the diegetic point of view but contains out-of-game information that is expected to be deduced by recipients. This kind of frame switch is appreciated within the community because it doesn’t break the game world and at the same time also adds to playing some extra pleasure to guess the riddle.

    Implicit switchings are mostly used for the maintenance of game illusion in case of some slight metagame problems. Here is an example of such case where the problem consists in mistaking an NPC for a player:

    “The last submarine”: As usual, something exploded, something is out of order, a service technician is needed. One player looks at a passing NPC and mistakes him for a technician: “W e need help in the armory!” I don’t want to bother: “N o, this technician is not trained enough for that, trust me!” NPC nods and passes by.

    In the following example we can see three modes of referring to out of the game information, one after another:

    “To kill a dragon”: We are working in a hospital. We use beakers with special liquids provided by game masters. W e should return the beakers to the organizers for refilling. I collect empty beakers and tell to my colleagues:

    (1) I: I’ll bring them to the medical depot.
    (2) Partner: Where?.. But if they must be brought to orga…
    (3) I (Winking, interrupting on purpose): Listen to me: I’ll bring them to the medical depot.

    In (1), the speaker employs implicit switching: she talks about the medical depot, but actually announces that she is about to go to meet the organizers. This information is to be deduced by her co- player. This is a case of implicit conscious unmarked switch.

    In (2), her co-player makes a meta-game statement with no signaling of its out- of-game mode. This is a case of explicit conscious unmarked switch.

    In (3), the initial speaker makes an attempt to repair game-world communication, recurring to interruption and to signalling the utterance pragmatics by means of non- verbal sign (wink) and intonation. This is a case of marked switch with non-verbal signalling.

    Implicit switching can and often does imply a joke. Obviously, there is a lot of in- game humor in larp, but some of it is based on a second meaning of in-game phrases that thus turn out to refer both to in- and out-of-game things. Such switchings are performed for fun and also contribute to constructing a group identity.

    The humor can be built on a common background of young Russians and thus contain allusions to popular movies, songs, or references to historical, current political and social events, or to internet-memes. It can also be a common memory of a group of real life friends, participants of a long larp campaign who have played together many times, or even just a group of those who had taken part in certain episode of a previous larp. Coming to the joke’s point is a manifestation of a common identity, cf:

    “There is a craft”: Walls in the Main H all are covered with inscriptions. One of them says: “Even a rat casts charms better than you!”

    Rat is the nickname of the participant who plays the Charms teacher. This is insider knowledge of this particular larp community.

    Unconscious Unmarked Switchings

    These are cases when someone makes her co-players drop out of the game frame unwittingly and notices the fact of the switching only from the co-players’ reaction.

    Ambivalent utterance is not intended by the speaker to have double meaning, but while the speaker has told something in-game, her co-player perceives it as out-of-the- game discourse. The speaker keeps in the game world until she catches the fact that co-player has switched into out-of-game mode.

    At first sight an ambivalent phrase looks like an implicit frame switching, but the crucial difference is that here implicit meaning is in the eye of the beholder, it has not been implied intentionally by the speaker.

    The frame switch that the speaker has noticed in her co-player’s behavior becomes a surprise.

    Cues that typically bring about such ambivalence include any statement that can be perceived in both in-game and out-of- game frames, terms that occasionally coincide with concepts from other game worlds and settings, or with participants’ names and nicknames that belong to other characters.

    In the example below, the first utterance is a case of an ambivalent saying that is perceived as potentially ambiguous, while the joking answer is a case of explicit conscious unmarked frame switch.

    “Western: Deadlands”: – I have a headache! – Do you need opium or painkiller?

    Slip of the tongue is an inadvertent use of a word that is inappropriate to this particular game-world, best exemplified by speech patterns like fillers or swearings that that are ill-suited to the game world, or out-of-game names of co-players or other customary patterns of daily speech.

    This kind differs from the previous one in that ambivalent utterance is used by the speaker is an appropriate fact of game world from the speaker’s side, and slip of the tongue is ill-suited from any point of view, but is hard to prevent.

    An altered state of consciousness may also contribute to slip of the tongue that switch frames: players not fully awaken, under influence, or physically exhausted can easily loose control over their discourse (see below an example: the sender does not even notice his slip until his co-players attract his attention to the case).

    “There is a craft”: At night we discuss fighting drills. B. complains how difficult it is to remember the exercises and suddenly says: “When I drive my car, I am sometimes so tired that I stop understanding what is going on…” We gaze at him in horror, but he does not notice our facial expression and goes on. I have to intervene: “What are you saying?” He slaps his forehead and complains in-game that he has lost his line because he is exhausted.

    Conclusion

    Our classification of data from the database allowed us to single out relevant features of cases of dropping out of game-world in social interaction. These are: external expression or its absence, presence or absence of signalling, intentional or non- intentional character of switching, explicit or implicit type of reference to out-of- game world, initial perception of switching by the speaker and/or by her co-player, use of speech cliches.

    In case of an intentional switch from the game to out-of-the-game frame, a player drops out of character because of some inner or outer reason (need, willing to distract, inappropriate conditions etc.) and makes the switching perceivable to the partners (e.g., in order to receive help, to express displeasure, to maintain group identity, etc.).

    In case of unintentional frame switching (ambivalent phrase and slip of the tongue), the author is a “victim” of the effect that her own words produce in her co-players.

    Bibliography

    • Brenne G.- T. Making and Mantaining Frames: A Study of Metacommunication in Laiv Play. Oslo, 2005.
    • Montola M. On the Edge of the Magic Circle. Understanding Role-Playing and Pervasive Games. Academic dissertation, University of Tampere, 2012.

    Ludography

    • “France: the cold summer of 1939” (St. Petersburg, October 2012),
    • “The last submarine” (Moscow, February 2013),
    • “Deathly hallows” (Moscow, February 2013),
    • “Western: Deadlands” (St. Petersburg, June 2013),
    • “There is a craft” (Moscow, August 2013),
    • “To kill a Dragon” (Moscow, September 2013).

    This article was initially published in The Knudepunkt 2015 Companion Book which was edited by Charles Bo Nielsen & Claus Raasted, published by Rollespilsakademiet and released as part of documentation for the Knudepunkt 2015 conference.


    Cover photo: Stockholm Scenario Festival 2014 by Johannes Axner is licensed under CC BY 2.0.

  • Six Levels of Substitution

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    Six Levels of Substitution

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    The Behaviour Substitution Model

    You are gliding over the parquet, in a constant battle over who’s in charge. You lock eyes and tighten your grip pulling your partner just a bit closer. Your posture and precise footwork radiate confidence. Other players are holding their breath to see which one gives up the battle first. Actually, there is much more at stake: the dance is a metaphor for a duel. The game In Fair Verona, held in Stockholm in 2012, used dancing to simulate aggression and passion.

    There are many things that cannot be acted out in a game – and for this reason the behaviours acted out by the player cannot be identical to the behaviour of their character in the game world.

    Firstly, the behaviours may be illicit, unethical or dangerous to perform.

    Secondly, the behaviour of the character can be simply impossible: sadly, we do not actually have superpowers or control magic.

    Thirdly, the player may not have the skills or the knowledge to perform as their character.

    Fourth, the player may find it difficult to act out as their character due to a significant discrepancy between the personality, traits and demeanour of the player and the character, or lacking skills or confidence as an actor.
    Whatever the reason for the distinction between the actions, we strive to understand them. We have a constant, automatic tendency to seek meaning in other people’s behaviour, and we attempt to attribute a cause for it. This requires us to make interpretations about each other.

    In order for these interpretations to be valid, we must understand how big a difference there is between the behaviour we observe and that of the character. This article proposes a model of behaviour substitution by which the diff erence between the behaviours in- and outside of the game can be described hierarchically.

    In other words, the model can be used to assess whether a behaviour is simulated, and in what way. The model proposes six categories whose implications are discussed. Finally, it is suggested that this model can also be applied to other genres in which there is a fictional reality.

    The Behaviour Substitution Model

    The Behavior Substitution Model describes to what extent the actions of the player physically resemble those their character takes. When there is a high similarity between actions, the behaviour of the player is easily and unambiguously interpreted by other people from close and afar. When the behaviours are not similar, they do not physically resemble each other, and they require prior knowledge to interpret.

    The model proposes there is a continuum, divided into six categories, between the two extremes (Table 1). On one end, the actions the player and the character take are identical: there is no substitution.

    On the other end, the behavior is unrecognizable, impossible to understand and interpret without prior knowledge, or there is no behavior at all.


    LevelDescriptionAn Example
    No SubstitutionThe behaviour is nearly equal in the game world and outside of itFighting is real
    AdaptationThe behaviour is slightly adapted, yet it clearly resembles the one intendedFighting slowly using safe techniques
    GrotesqueThe behaviour is changed moderately, it requires effort to be interpretedFighting with grossly exaggerated movements
    SymbolicalThe behaviour is considerably changed, and does not resemble the original behaviourFighting is symbolized by dancing
    MechanicalThe behaviour is replaced by agreed upon game mechanics, and acted out by the playerFighting is resolved by a game of rock-paper-scissors or a computer game
    AbstractThe behaviour is not acted out, but communicated through other meansThe results of a fight are written down on a paper
    Table 1: The Behaviour Substitution Model

    Dual Process Theory

    To understand the model proposed more thoroughly, it is analysed through dual process theory. According to this theory, we have two complementary information processing systems: an implicit and an explicit one. The first system is very fast, automatic, nonverbal and unconscious. For example, consider your friend pushes a bottle from a table at a party. You instinctively try to catch it mid-air, without any conscious thought.

    Your reactions were guided by the implicit system that steered your attention to the object, and your hand to grab it. The explicit system operates in a very different way. It is slower, linked to language, logical, and often involves conscious reasoning. This type of processing happens for instance when we strive to learn something new, or try to figure out how to assemble an Ikea chair.

    These two systems work constantly together. When we are writing a letter on a computer, or driving a car, we do not have to pay attention to the individual movements of our hands or feet. Rather, the movements are automatic, guided by our implicit system. At the same time, our explicit system focuses on planning the outline of the text or route.

    Not surprisingly, these two systems are active also while during role-playing, and they tie closely to the proposed model: there is a correlation between the two systems. When there is no substitution, the more the implicit system can be used. The further we go toward the abstract end of the model, the more the explicit system comes in to play (Picture 1). This argument is elaborated below by each category.

    Picture 1: The Behaviour Substitution Model and the Dual Process Theory

    The Six Levels of Substitution

    #1: No Substitution

    On this level, the behaviour of the player is nearly identical to that of their characters’ in the game world. No substitution is required because the player is able and wants to physically, emotionally and socially act the behaviour out. Importantly, the player receives immediate, visceral feedback within themselves while acting. This strengthens the immersion: the player feels what their character is feeling.

    The behaviours, however, have to occur inside the magic circle of the game. This means that the player views themselves rather as a character in a game world than outside of it. At the same time, other players understand the player has transgressed the line to the game world. This can be communicated through the tone of one’s voice, clothing or the physical game space. When this distinction is clear, the behaviour itself is easily, intuitively and swiftly interpreted by the other players.

    #2: Adaptation

    On this level, the behaviour is slightly adapted to the situation, without compromising its communicative function to the player themselves and others. The player feels as if they are acting out behaviour, and other players often unambiguously understand what the player is doing within the reality of the game.

    #3: Grotesque

    The behaviour is moderately changed to suit the situation. In comparison to the levels above, the behaviour is clearly a compromise: it is acted out, but it does no longer clearly resemble the action portrayed. Therefore, it can be difficult to interpret, and in the worst cases it is unintentionally comical or embarrassing.

    The behaviour may be seen as true within the game reality, yet it seems somehow out of place, unnatural, acted, or false.
    The grotesqueness is exaggerated due to the discrepant information received through the two systems. The explicit system is telling the player they are doing one thing, but the information they receive through the implicit system does not support this. For instance, the player may walk but within the game they are running.

    Yet, they are not sweating or out of breath. At the same time, the other players struggle to interpret the behaviour. They have to remind themselves about the previously agreed upon rules, forbidding running, to understand the behaviour. Everyone has to invest conscious effort to correct the information received and possibly suppress conflicting physical reactions. This conflict between two levels of information may break or weaken the immersion of the game. Compare this to T-1000 from the Terminator 2, or zombies: they are both alive and dead at the same time, a key conflict behind their unnaturalness.

    #4: Symbolical Substitution

    On the symbolical level, the behaviour is given new meanings or it is substituted by another, similar behaviour. In the above mentioned example, tango was used to simulate interaction between two people. The relationship between the behavior and its meaning is no longer completely transparent. Observers oblivious to substitution may see the act as merely intensive dancing, while the players understand a fierce fight is occurring.

    This level can be used to give the player skills they do not have or cannot employ.

    Further, it can be used to simulate things blatantly impossible using the skills the player already has. The range of behaviours is no longer bound by the player’s skills or the physical world. It is important the players receive sufficient practice in the substitution before the game. The more the method is practiced, the easier it is for the players to interpret in the game. Also, the substituting behavior should be something that is not often acted out in the game. For instance, if knocking on the door means casting a spell, some awkward situations may arise.

    Even if one behaviour can be substituted by nearly anything, it is not irrelevant at all by which it is replaced – the choice of substitution greatly affects all the players. For example, social interaction can be simulated by a game of tennis, tug of war, or dancing. Each of these communicates differently to the player themselves and to others. Some behaviours can more easily and clearly convey emotions than others. Basically, the more you have options to move about, use your voice and gestures, the better your emotions will be conveyed.

    The substitutive behaviour also crucially affects the players acting it out. The more the behavior physically resembles the original, the clearer the implicit connection is. Substituting bull-riding by dancing or pulling a rope does not give the same sort of visceral feedback. When the two behaviours are intuitively connected, they are easy to compare and interpret. Consider again the example of dancing: the tone of the dance, which person leads, and how they hold their hands, is indicative of the relationship to the viewers, the partner, and the player themselves.

    The symbolical behavior can also be more allegorical, an extended metaphor. The game I love Ana used group exercises, support and writing rules to reinforce the players’ dedication to the cause.

    The whole game could be a metaphor in itself. A game could be about walking, a common metaphor for leading one’s life. The feeling of walking would give players visceral feedback they could explicitly interpret, making the core of the game. The road would add another layer to the game: the surface, inclination, views and other travelers would be given new meanings.

    To sum up, on this level the behavior is interpreted through prior knowledge. When the substituting behavior is physical, and intuitively connected to the behaviour portrayed, it can be used to convey a wide enough range of emotions.

    #5: Mechanical Substitution

    Playing poker in the game world is not a mechanical substitution, but a case of no substitution, while playing poker to determine the winner of a gun fight would be a mechanical substitution. This sort of substitution happens clearly outside the game’s reality, and requires rules and explicit explanation. As the name implies, the substitution often includes rolling dice, drawing cards, or comparing values.

    This is a fast and clear way to resolve anything from brief interactions to world- changing events, but it can feel light. The substitution underscores that everything within the game world is merely agreed upon, make-believe. This may break the immersion by reminding the player about the rules, which can be a welcome break from intense action.

    #6: Abstract Substitution

    On this level behaviour is no longer required, as it is implied by the consequences. For example, there may be a sheet of paper declaring there is a hovering sphere within the hallway.

    This level can be used to introduce players to elements of mystery, or to avoid mechanical substitution. At times, the behavior cannot objectively be deduced from the signifiers, but educated guesses can be thrown around. This lets the players use their imagination and storytelling skills which can result in more vivid and elaborate description than any above. This is especially true for such hard to simulate events such as magic, gross changes in the environment, or communicating events to players not present.

    Implications and Conclusions

    The six levels described above are already widely used in live action role-playing games. The model can be used to describe individual occurrences of substitutions, the range and the primary level used. It can also be extended beyond games, to genres of arts where there is a fictional world. No substitution is used as a primary level in 360 degree live action role-playing games, historical enactment, and many theatre productions. Adaptation is employed by many live action games, digital music games, and theatre performances. Grotesque level is generally not used as main level, but it is often briefly and unintentionally visited. The symbolic level is used in modern dance, and jeepform or freeform games. Table-top and digital role-playing games often mostly use the mechanical level. The abstract level is used, for instance, in the description of games.

    The level of substitution should be chosen based on its overall suitability for the game experience. The designer should carefully choose the techniques and levels of substitution to fit the message of the game, the theme, and the atmosphere. An ill- chosen level may break immersion, while a harmonious one can keep it up for hours. The culture affects the level of substitution. In some countries or subcultures hugging may be a convention, while in other places

    it may be frowned upon. The norms of the culture shape not only which behaviours should be substituted and simulated, but also how they are substituted. The more unconventional something is, the more abstract the level of substitution should be. For instance, sex can be such a taboo in some cultures that it can only be indicated indirectly; but in other parts of the world it could be presented symbolically. The level of substitution can often become silent information: new players are unaware of the conventions of the group. Therefore, substitutions should be clearly stated, preferably written down, to assure a pleasant and safe game experience for new and old players alike.

    In Summary

    The Behaviour Substitution Model describes the degree by which the actions of the player correspond to those their character takes within the game world. At times, the behaviour of the player and the character is identical: there is no substitution. In cases when the player is unable to act as their character due to their attributes, limitations of the physical world, or for ethical reasons, the behaviour may be substituted: simulated by something representing it. This can resemble the intended behaviour closely, symbolically or very remotely.

    How the behaviour is substituted should be assessed in the light of several factors. Optimally, the behaviour should convey the intended message clearly and richly, it should be physical, and it should be intuitively comparable to the activity portrayed. The result of the behaviour is easily understood by all the participants. In the best cases, the substituted behaviour adds to the game and gives it new depth. The way that something is substituted should be explicitly stated before the game, to ensure it is understood by all the participants.


    This article was initially published in The Knudepunkt 2015 Companion Book which was edited by Charles Bo Nielsen & Claus Raasted, published by Rollespilsakademiet and released as part of documentation for the Knudepunkt 2015 conference.

  • Post-larp Depression

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    Post-larp Depression

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    This text was originally featured in Analog Game Studies: http://analoggamestudies.org/2014/08/post-larp-depression/

    Larp occupies a unique place among analog games, for it demands as much from players’ bodies as it does from their minds. It comes then as no surprise that many players find themselves in the situation of feeling confused, exhausted, and emotionally raw after a larp event.((Eirik Fatland, “Debriefing Intense Larps 101,” The Larpwright, July 23, 2013; Peter Munthe-Kaas, “Post-Larp,” Munthe-Kaas.dk/blog, October 23, 2013; Tobias Bindslet and Pernille Schultz, “De-Fucking,” Playground Magazine 2, 2011, pp.30-33.)) In fact, larpers frequently exhaust themselves in advance through the leisure labor of planning their costumes, character actions, possible outcomes, and interactions. Subsequently, the event itself often features what some would describe as “intense content” – dramatic interpersonal dynamics, improvisational comedy, combat, political struggles, problem solving, etc. Intense content is there by design in order to maximize the emotional impact of the game. The sheer amount of emotional intensity experienced in a short time frame can impact any given larper, regardless of whether or not they found the experience enjoyable.((Fatland; Sarah Lynne Bowman, “Bleed: How Emotions Affect Role-playing Experiences,” Nordic Larp Talks Oslo, 2013.))

    As with any high, the comedown can often feel shocking and depressing.

    According to many larpers, the return to the “real world” can feel deflating. The mind must divest itself from the vivid social reality of the larp, and attempting to communicate with outsiders about the events of game can feel alienating. Petri Lankoski and Simo Järvelä have argued that role-playing immersion and emotional bleed between the character and the player are, in fact, cognitive processes and “natural consequences” of how “the brain works.”((Petri Lankoski and Simo Järvelä, “An Embodied Cognition Approach for Understanding Role-playing,” International Journal of Role-Playing 3, 2012, pp.18-32.))

    The emotional highs of game most likely have a hormonal component; endorphins, adrenaline, dopamine, serotonin, and oxytocin levels shift as the result of game stimuli. As with any high, the comedown can often feel shocking and depressing.

    In-game photo: A former slave grapples with the emotions arising from the arrival of an arrogant slaver in town and a potential slave auction. In-game photo: A former slave grapples with the emotions arising from the arrival of an arrogant slaver in town and a potential slave auction.

    Post-larp depression is a common phenomenon and should not cause players excessive concern. Indeed, participants report similar experiences after attending events at fan conventions, conferences, kink scenes, festivals, and so on.((Beth Dolgner, “Post-Con Depression: Its Symptoms and Treatment,” Beth Dolgner: Writer, Editor, September 4, 2012; Munthe-Kaas.)) The BDSM community in particular has developed strategies for aftercare, referring to the depression participants experience after a scene as “crash” and “drop.”((Gregg Norris, Glossary of BDSM (Bondage, Discipline, Dominance, Submission, Sadism, Masochism, Brian Phillippe, 2010.)) Both scholars and practitioners have noted the connection between BDSM and role-playing scenes,((J. Tuomas Harviainen, “Sadomasochist Role-playing as Live Action Role-playing: A Trait-Descriptive Analysis,” International Journal of Role-playing 1, pp.59-70; Hanne Grasmo, “Taking Care” Playground Magazine 2, 2011, pp.28-29.)) indicating that the phenomenological mental processes are probably similar. Mental illness and role-play are not necessarily interrelated,((Fatland.)) but the drop after an intense event may trigger imbalances already in place. This article describes strategies some larpers employ for transitioning between the game to the “real world” and coping with post-larp depression. By mobilizing these diverse techniques, larpers recognize the larp as a non-trivial intervention in their daily emotional lives.

    The drop after an intense event may trigger imbalances already in place.

    One of the most common strategies is to tell war stories and/or hold a debriefing afterwards, both of which constitute a reframing of the larp material. Larpers often process the experiences they had by sharing memories of what transpired in the game with one another. War stories tend to valorize, intellectualize, or make humorous moments that occurred in game, whereas debriefing tends to take emotional content seriously in order to process and move through it.((Fatland; Lizzie Stark, “How to Run a Post-Larp Debrief,” Lizzie Stark.com, December 1, 2013.))

    Both forms of “reframing” are important for larpers, allowing them to validate their experiences in the eyes of others. Storytelling also permits larpers to structure the oft-chaotic experience of a larp, drawing together a cohesive narrative that is easier to master.((Johanna Koljonen, Peter Munthe-Kaas, Bjarke Pedersen, and Jaakko Stenros, “The Great Player Safety Controversy,” Panel at Solmukohta 2012,  Nurmijärvi, Finland, April 13, 2012; Johanna Koljonen, “The Second Great Player Safety Controversy,” Presentation at Knutepunkt 2013, Haraldvangen, Norway, April 19, 2013.))

    War stories can be found anywhere there are larpers. However, those who choose to debrief are perhaps best able to do so in small groups with trusted friends and/or in a structured fashion with a moderator. Some larpers also assign each other debriefing buddies, who promise to contact each other in some fashion later. These debriefing buddies are expected to remain available to each other long-term as they share feelings that come up days, weeks, or months after the larp.((Fatland; Stark.))

    In-game photo: In the zombie survival game Dystopia Rising, a character comforts a couple who just experienced a miscarriage. Such experiences can leave lasting emotional impacts. In-game photo: In the zombie survival game Dystopia Rising, a character comforts a couple who just experienced a miscarriage. Such experiences can leave lasting emotional impacts.

    Adapted from psychotherapy, some larp circles also employ the process of deroling to recover from larpers’ adoption of an alternate persona for long periods of time, which requires a different frame of reference. Regardless of whether a larper’s “real” persona is similar, pleasant and unpleasant in-game memories, thoughts, and emotions persist long after the larp has ended. Such thoughts, emotions, and experiences may bleed-out into one’s daily life.((Markus Montola, “The Positive Negative Experience in Extreme Role-playing.” Proceedings of DiGRA Nordic 2010: Experiencing Games: Games, Play, and Players, 2010; Sarah Lynne Bowman, “Social Conflict in Role-playing Communities: An Exploratory Qualitative Study,” International Journal of Role-Playing 4, 2013, pp.17-18.))

    Some larpers thus perform de-roling rituals to avoid problematic forms of bleed. These de-roling rituals vary in activity and scope, but include: taking off a piece of one’s character’s costume and placing it in a circle, saying goodbye to the character for a time;((Stark.)) thinking of one or more aspects of one’s character that one admires and “taking” it with them; thinking of one or more aspects of one’s character one dislikes and wishes to leave behind;((Munthe-Kaas; Sarah Lynne Bowman, ed. The Book of Mad About the Boy (2012 US Run): Documenting a Larp Project about Gender, Motherhood and Values, Copenhagen, Denmark: Rollespilsakademiet, 2012.))

    speaking about one’s character in the third person during war stories or debriefing to emphasize a sense of distance;((Stark.)) and making sure to interact with all the people from a larp both in-character and out-of-character to emphasize the distinction.((Stark.))

    Socializing with one’s fellow larpers actually tends to increase the feelings of emotional safety in the larp space

    Other larpers forego the angst and throw a party instead. Oftentimes, relaxing pre- and post-game social events unaffiliated with the game fiction help players connect with one another and relieve post-game depression. These social events include MeetUps, “afters,” dinners, parties, coffee dates, online discussions, etc.((Fatland; Bowman, “Social Conflict,” p.19; Stark.))

    Socializing with one’s fellow larpers actually tends to increase the feelings of emotional safety in the larp space, so that players get to know one another well and can better distinguish between in-game and out-of-game actions. Also, interacting in new contexts tends to deepen bonds of friendship that already get forged at the game. Social events give larpers the space to have conversations with one another that might not otherwise take place, working through conflict and increasing trust.

    Some players further emphasize nurturing their physical and emotional well-being after a larp, taking care of mind and body. They insist upon players sleeping, eating, bathing well, and not pushing themselves too hard. Human touch is also said to be helpful, if one feels comfortable with hugs.((Fatland; Bowman, “Social Conflict,” p.19.))

    Return to the everyday. Photo by Ali Edwards CC BY-NC-ND. Return to the everyday. Photo by Ali Edwards CC BY-NC-ND.

    Depending on the intensity of the larp, sometimes people can take days to recover. For the mind, some players find it helpful to write about their experiences after events. Players may share these memories or keep them private. The mere act of committing events to paper helps individuals externalize and order their experiences in a meaningful way.((Fatland)) Players may also seek to simply distract themselves, moving from one immersive activity to another: watching a few episodes of a television show, reading a book, playing another role-playing game, and so forth. Transporting the frame of reference from one to another may smooth the transition for some players.

    Lastly, one effective strategy to ease the transition back to the mundane world is the act of showing gratitude to the other larpers and the organizers themselves. This act of storytelling can boost morale. It dignifies the presence of all involved, and lets everyone know that they mutually enhanced each other’s experience. The organizers in particular expend a great deal of time and energy to create a fulfilling experience, and players who acknowledge that effort may find the overall experience of returning to life less deflating.

    Not all players experience post-larp depression, however. Some fluidly transition back to their daily lives. Other participants have noted an inverse phenomenon called “post-larp charisma,” in which players are fueled with an abundance of creative energy.((Fatland.)) Others still object to the use of psychological terms such as “depression” or the more conversational phrase “post-larp blues,” preferring to refer to the phenomenon as “post-larp” to avoid the connotations of mental dysfunction.((Søren Ebbehøj, “The Great Player Safety Mess,” Presentation at Knutpunkt 2014: Sharpening the Cutting Edge, Gullbrannagården, Sweden, April 4, 2014.)) Responses to intense game events can vary and no one strategy works for all people. The most important point remains, however: the effects of larp on the players are often too significant to ignore, as are the impact of the techniques outlined here.


    Featured image borrowed from Liqueur Felix @Flickr.

  • Returning to the Real World

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    Returning to the Real World

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    Debriefing After Role-playing Games

    Debriefing is a somewhat controversial topic in role-playing communities today. While some individuals feel that games
    should remain distinct from the mundane world and debriefing is an unnecessary complication, many role-players have
    grown concerned about difficulties in the process of transitioning between intense game experiences back to mundane
    life.((Sarah Lynne Bowman and Evan Torner,
    “Post-Larp Depression,” Analog Game Studies 1, no. 1
    .)) As part of our Nordiclarp.org series on emotional
    safety and conflict resolution in role-playing communities, this article analyzes the various formats, benefits, and
    drawbacks of post-game debriefing after a role-playing experience. Though debriefing is most often discussed in larp
    circles,((Eirik Fatland, “Debriefing Intense Larps 101,” last modified July 23, 2013, The Larpwright, http://larpwright.efatland.com/?p=384; Peter Munthe-Kaas,
    “Post-Larp,” last modified October 23, 2013, Munthe-Kaas.dk/blog, http://munthe-kaas.dk/blog/?tag=post-larp; Tobias Bindslet and Pernille Schultz, “De-Fucking,” Playground
    Magazine
    2, 2011, 30-33
    ; Lizzie Stark, “How to Run a Post-Larp Debrief,” last modified December 1, 2013,
    Lizzie Stark.com, http://leavingmundania.com/2013/12/01/run-post-larp-debrief/.))
    the process can also be useful in tabletop role-playing.

    Ritualized Post-game Activities

    Several scholars have noted that the role-playing experience is similar to a ritual

    Several scholars have
    noted that the role-playing experience is similar or identical to a ritual, in which participants engage in a
    liminal experience.((For a few examples, see Christopher I. Lehrich, “Ritual Discourse in Role-playing Games,”
    last modified October 1, 2005, The Forge, http://www.indie-rpgs.com/_articles/ritual_discourse_in_RPGs.html;
    J. Tuomas Harviainen, “Information, Immersion,
    Identity: The Interplay of Multiple Selves During Live-Action Role-Play,” Journal of Interactive Drama: A
    Multi-Discipline Peer-Reviewed Journal of Scenario-Based Theatre-Style Interactive Drama
    1, no. 2 (October
    2006): 11
    ; Sarah Lynne Bowman, The
    Functions of Role-playing Games
    , Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2010, pp. 15, 48-53
    ; J. Tuomas Harviainen and Andreas Lieberoth,“The Similarity of Social
    Information Processes in Games and Rituals: Magical Interfaces,” Simulation & Gaming (April 10, 2011):
    528-549
    .)) Liminality describes an in-between, amorphous, and ephemeral space where the social rules of
    reality are changed and new roles are inhabited for the purposes of the ritual. Drawing upon Arnold van Gennep’s and
    Victor Turner’s theories, role-playing scholars note the ways in which just as in religious or other social rituals,
    role-players experience a preparation, liminal, and return phase.

    In the preparation phase, individuals engage in various activities to transform themselves physically and emotionally
    for the ritual. In the case of larp, for example, preparation might include creating a backstory, assigning points to a
    character sheet, crafting a costume, memorizing game rules, or building character ties with other participants. Recent
    larp practitioners have advocated for workshopping as another powerful tool during the preparation phase,((Jesper Bruun, “Pre-larp Workshops as Learning
    Situations – Matching Intentions with Outcome,” in Think Larp: Academic Writings from KP2011, edited by Thomas
    Duus Henriksen, Christian Bierlich, Kasper Friis Hansen, and Valdemar Kølle (Copenhagen, Denmark: Rollespilsakademiet,
    2011), 194-215
    ; The Workshop Handbook, last modified July 29, 2005, http://workshophandbook.wordpress.com/.)) in which players have the
    opportunity to build trust with other participants, develop their character backstories through scenes, and try out
    mechanics or techniques that may come up in the game.

    Photo by Johannes AxnerSimilarly, role-playing groups have several informal
    activities for the return phase of the ritual that have emerged in various communities as needed. Examples of solitary
    post-game activities include in-character and out-of-character journaling, which players may choose to share with others
    as game memories or keep private. Immersion into other games, narratives, or work activities can also help people switch
    gears to another mental and emotional framework. Many post-game activities are more social in nature, such as dinners or
    parties, often called afters. In recent years, post-game social activities often take place on the Internet, as
    players post on social media sites such as Facebook, Google+, blogs, and forums about their experiences and connect with
    other participants. We can consider these emergent activities forms of informal debriefing.

    The bulk of the content of these forms of sharing involves war stories, in which participants narrativize events
    from game as their character experienced them.((Stark, “How to Run a Post-Larp Debrief.”)) War
    stories often have a humorous or excited tone regardless of the subject matter of the story, as the process of retelling
    is often experienced as exhilarating. During war stories, players do connect with their characters by reliving their
    experiences, but they also are able to create a form of distance by telling the story in a humorous or otherwise
    distanced way. This distance is quite healthy for the psyche by allowing for reframing. Reframing is a way for
    the psyche to make sense of the amorphous, confusing, and ephemeral experiences that transpire within the liminality of
    role-playing by creating a linear, controlled narrative of that gets committed to memory with each retelling. War
    stories also work to reinforce social ties between others who were part of the experience as they are allowed to hear
    events from the perspective of others.

    Photo by Johannes Axner

    Ultimately, war stories are most pleasurable for the players telling the stories; their experiences are validated when
    others listen and retelling allows them to relive the intensity of both high and low moments in the game in a positive
    framework. However, war stories rarely allow players to express some of the deeper emotional content that they
    experienced in the game. The format of the war story focuses on “awesome” experiences and emphasizes a sort of
    exhilaration in the retelling. If a player is experiencing a negative response to the game, the war story format is
    generally not compatible with a more serious expression of sharing, which might feel like a “buzzkill” to other gamers.

    Recent discussions in experimental groups such as the Nordic larp and freeform communities about emotional safety in
    role-playing((Johanna Koljonen, Peter Munthe-Kaas, Bjarke Pedersen, and Jaakko Stenros, “The Great Player Safety
    Controversy,” Panel at Solmukohta 2012,  Nurmijärvi, Finland, April 13, 2012; Johanna Koljonen, “The Second Great Player
    Safety Controversy,” Presentation at Knutepunkt 2013, Haraldvangen, Norway, April 19, 2013; Johanna Koljonen, “Safety in
    Larp,” Presentation at the Larpwriter Summer School 2013, Vilnius, Lithuania, last modified Aug. 1, 2013, YouTube,
    Fantasiforbundet, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qho9O_EMG34;
    Johanna Koljonen, “Emotional and Physical Safety in Larp – Larpwriter Summer School 2014,” Presentation at the
    Larpwriter Summer School 2014, Vilnius, Lithuania, last modified Aug. 3, 2014, YouTube, Fantasiforbundet, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g-cPmM2bDcU.)) emphasize the
    need for these deeper, serious forms of sharing, especially in powerful games where physical and emotional limits are
    tested. Such forms of testing can produce the experience of bleed – where a player’s emotions, thoughts,
    relationships, and physical states bleed over into the character and visa versa – which can often produce lasting
    emotional impacts after the game.((Markus Montola, “The Positive Negative
    Experience in Extreme Role-playing,” Proceedings of DiGRA Nordic 2010: Experiencing Games: Games, Play, and Players,
    2010
    ;
    Sarah Lynne Bowman, “Bleed: How Emotions Affect Role-playing Experiences,” Nordic Larp Talks Oslo, 2013
    ; Sarah Lynne Bowman, “Social Conflict in
    Role-playing Communities: An Exploratory Qualitative Study,” International Journal of Role-Playing 4, 2013:
    17-18
    .)) For example, if one’s character dies or the life of a loved one is threatened in game, a player may
    experience those emotions of fear and grief after the game is over. Similarly, if a character has a negative interaction
    in the game such as a physical or social attack, they may experience confusing feelings of anger or frustration toward
    both the character and the player in question.

    The alibi of the game allows players to distance themselves from any events that take place in-character and in-game

    While the informal debriefing strategies described above may create space for people
    to express these feelings and contextualize them, players may feel uncomfortable sharing, especially if the play culture
    does not encourage such types of discussion. Some communities strongly emphasize the difference between player and
    character, which role-playing theorists call alibi.((Markus Montola and Jussi Holopainen, “First
    Person Audience and Painful Role-playing,” in Immersive Gameplay, edited by Evan Torner and William J. White
    (Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2012).
    )) The alibi of the game allows players to distance themselves from any events
    that take place in-character and in-game. Classic statements reinforcing alibi include: “It wasn’t me, it’s what my
    character would have done,” “It’s just a game,” and “You can’t separate fantasy from reality.” While alibi does exist in
    that role-players are distinct from their characters, statements such as these are often used to minimize or invalidate
    the experiences of others in distress. If someone wishes to express their feelings in a culture where such statements
    are common, they are often seen as “taking the game too far,” “having no life,” or needing to “walk it off.”

    Formal Debriefing as an Alternate Strategy

    A formal debrief is integrated into the game as part of the experience

    As a result
    of these issues, individuals in communities such the Nordic larp and American freeform traditions((Lizzie Stark, et al.,
    “How to Debrief a Freeform Game,” last modified on July 15, 2012, Lizziestark.com, http://lizziestark.com/tag/freeform-debrief/)) have started
    implementing formal debriefing into their games. A formal debrief – as opposed to an optional afters — is often
    integrated into the game as part of the experience and is sometimes complemented by a pre-game workshop session. This
    practice was adopted from theatre, educational games, and military exercises; though the learning connotation is not
    emphasized as strongly in the leisure activity of role-playing, formal debriefs can certainly encourage an atmosphere of
    learning from one’s experiences within the game. In a formal debrief, participants take turns sharing their experiences
    from the game in a serious tone, focusing on deeply emotional moments, both positive and negative. Ideally, each player
    is given the opportunity to have equal sharing time in a formal debrief and no one person should dominate the
    conversation. Thus, a moderator is often necessary to maintain the debriefing format. This moderator need not be one of
    the game organizers, who are often overwhelmed with other logistics, but should have at least some experience leading
    group exercises.

    Formal debriefs are often confused with other formalized post-game activities that have emerged in some communities.
    Examples include game wraps after one-shot games, in which each player explains what secrets their character kept
    from others and their true motivations,((Fair Escape, “Game Wraps,” last modified August 1, 2012, Fair Escape: LARPing
    Thoughts from a LARPer Fair, http://fairescape.wordpress.com/2012/08/01/game-wraps/.))
    or MVP Awards, in which each player nominates another for enhancing their experience in a significant way.
    Alternately, players may critique game design or implementation in such formal settings, providing feedback to
    organizers. Again, while these activities are technically formalized, they often do not allow space for individuals to
    share troubling emotions and usually resemble war stories more than formal debriefs. Games that feature “lighter”
    content or greater degrees of fantasy are sometimes considered safer emotionally and assumed to not need a debrief.
    However, in some instances, these sorts of games take people by surprise in terms of the depth of their emotional
    responses, particularly if they experienced a trigger to some past emotional trauma unrelated to the game.((Shoshana Kessock, “Ethical Content Management and the
    Gaming Social Contract,” in The Wyrd Con Companion Book 2013, edited by Sarah Lynne Bowman and Aaron Vanek (Los
    Angeles, CA: Wyrd Con, 2013), 102-111
    ; Maury Elizabeth Brown, “Pulling the Trigger on Player Agency: How
    Psychological Intrusions in Larps Affect Game Play,” in The Wyrd Con Companion Book 2014, edited by Sarah Lynne
    Bowman (Los Angeles, CA: Wyrd Con, 2014). In press for December publication.))

    Photo by Johannes Axner

    No one formula exists for the length, content, or number of participants in formal debriefs. Based on personal
    experience, an optional two-hour debrief after a three-day campaign game in groups of 3-6 has proven beneficial,
    although we also eat dinner during this time period, which serves the purpose of afters as well. During these debriefs,
    we first ask players to share the most profound emotional experiences they had in-game for one or two rounds, then ask
    participants to share their happiest moment for one round in order to end on a positive note. Alternately, two Larps from the Factory instructional
    videos detail a 2-3 minute debrief one-on-one followed by a thirty second debrief to the group, in which all players
    must limit their discussion to a succinct statement.((Larps from the Factory, “Debrief: Make a Round, ‘Runda’ – Part01,”
    last modified Oct. 25, 2013, YouTube, EidZemVideo, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K11k5toOScA&index=8&list=PL5ZRxNgrfrSEx6sRyJLeiFv1TvWjVmMPC.))

    Other games, such as the U.S. run of the Norwegian game Mad About the Boy, featured a
    multi-tiered debrief, in which individuals shared one-on-one, in small groups, in larger groups, and then as a big group
    over the course of a couple of hours.((Lizzie Stark, “Mad About the Debrief,” last modified October 22, 2012, Leaving
    Mundania: Inside the World of Larp, http://leavingmundania.com/2012/10/22/mad-about-the-debrief/.))
    After this debrief, compulsive sharing took place over the group mailing list for at least a week, which was compiled in
    a documentation book.((Sarah Lynne Bowman,
    ed., The Book of Mad About the Boy (2012 U.S. Run): Documenting a Larp About Gender, Motherhood, and Values
    (Copenhagen, Denmark: Rollespils Akademiet, 2013).
    )) Mad About the Boy also featured de-roleing
    buddies
    : groups of three players who exchanged email addresses and made themselves available for serious
    discussion in the future.

    De-roleing strategies are helpful at the start of the debrief as a formal transition

    Other de-roleing strategies include symbolically placing a personal item of the character’s into
    the center of the group; describing one quality that the player likes about the character and wants to keep with them;
    and admitting one quality that the player dislikes about the character and wishes to leave behind. These strategies are
    helpful at the start of the debrief as a formal transition. Additionally, players can make an effort to use third-person
    language to describe their character’s feelings and actions during the debrief,((Stark, “How to Run a Post-Larp Debrief.”))
    which can create additional distance from the role and diffuse negative dynamics with others.

    Players should also take care to avoid saying “you” when addressing other players, especially in an emotionally charged
    context. After all, alibi still exists, and the character performed the action, not the player. Some advocate for
    separating players in debriefing groups who have experienced emotionally-charged dynamics in games – such as victim and
    villain, or lovers experiencing a difficult quarrel — allowing individuals to feel free to express themselves without
    inhibition. Others suggest keeping the debriefing space open for all participants to hear, as such sharing might help
    people learn from one another’s perspectives and develop empathy. In this case, the multi-tiered option might be most
    beneficial, allowing players to share as little or as much as they like in small or large groups. Additionally, game
    organizers may also need a formal debrief with one another, which can help curtail issues of burn-out, feelings of
    under-appreciation, and exhaustion.

    Critiques of Formal Debriefing and Possible Solutions

    Formal debriefing is not without its detractors

    Formal debriefing is not without its
    detractors. Some individuals dislike having others reframe their experience by feeling compelled to listen to another
    person’s sharing. Others prefer to process their feelings independently, reaching out to others when they feel ready.
    Others have felt that the formal debriefing process is too long, taking away from valuable game, cleaning, or travel
    time. Some feel that debriefing encourages a “culture of victimhood,” in which individual players’ negative emotions are
    disproportionally featured over the positive experiences they and other members of the group have had, which colors the
    whole experience. Some feel they do not need to debrief and others dislike feeling compelled to speak.

    Such problems are not, in my view, reasons to discard the debriefing process completely. Much of these issues are
    resolvable through sufficient moderation. Players should be allowed to opt-out of formal debriefing, but also highly
    encouraged to participate as an important part of the ritual process. They should not feel compelled to speak;
    moderators should open space for individuals to share, but allow them to pass if necessary. Moderators can use a timer
    to make sure that each individual has enough time to share. They should remind players to “cut to the emotional chase”
    in terms of avoiding long war stories and addressing the core emotional components of the event.

    Photo by Johannes AxnerModerators should intercede if a debrief becomes too
    heated or accusatory, as debriefing should feel like a safe space for everyone to share. Encouraging third-person
    address for participants is a helpful strategy for reducing negative bleed, i.e. “My character felt scared when your
    character screamed at her” rather than “you yelled at me, which made me feel scared.” Ultimately, encouraging players to
    end debriefing with happy stories helps each individual remember why they enjoy playing the game. “Happy” stories may
    include stories with darker content, i.e. “It was so awesome when your character yelled at my character! I was laughing
    inside, but she was so scared!” However, ideally, “happy memories” might include moments of connection with other
    people, such as, “My character was so scared, but it felt so encouraging when Johnny’s character placed a hand on her
    shoulder in support.” Finally, formal debriefing should not be viewed not the only method to resolve emotional reactions
    after a game, as players can also process in informal debriefs, one-on-one, or in a solitary fashion.

    Feeling Heard

    Ultimately, the goal of any sort of post-game sharing — be it war stories, critiques of the game, or debriefing — is
    for players to feel heard. Often, groups can avoid long-standing grudges, loss of players from a community,((Bowman, “Social Conflict in Role-Playing
    Communities.”
    )) or post-larp depression((Bowman and Torner, “Post Larp Depression.”)) if
    they simply provide space for others to share their feelings. Return to the mundane world can feel alienating after the
    intensity of experiences within a game. The other players who participated in that shared fiction are often the best and
    most qualified individuals to help one another transition. Formal debriefing establishes a play culture in which
    emotional experiences are considered valid and speaking about these moments is not only acceptable, but normative. The
    more debriefing is practiced in games, the less strange or undesirable serious sharing will seem to players unfamiliar
    with the process.